


Maybe We Could

by portable_tragedy



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, romy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portable_tragedy/pseuds/portable_tragedy
Summary: "With you, chere, I ain't playin'." -Remy arrives at the mansion from a long-term undercover assignment to find an intriguing, and isolated, new student with a power that leaves him as breathless as her green eyes do. ROMY. (Because, who else, really?)





	1. In the Gym

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is a cross-post from FFnet though I'm editing/updating as I go. If you've read it there you'll notice the chapter breaks are different and these early chapters are more fleshed out. I had considered doing all the updates before posting but, well, I didn't. 
> 
> If you have read it, there will not be major plot changes; I'm cleaning up, sometimes fleshing out, and intend to have a stronger ending. There may be bonus scenes.
> 
> If you are new to Maybe We Could, I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I have a French glossary and will post it at the end of each chapter.

**Prologue**

Outside was all rain and fog, the steady sound of the storm lulling. In other circumstances, a quiet room, cocooned with his lover riding out a thunderstorm would have been romantic. He’d have seduced her with wine and words, kept her busy in bed til the sun rose and only then would they have slid together into sleep. But that would be another world, not this one. In this one, Anna Marie’s eyes glowed, empty and hard. In this one, her hair lifted, sparking with electricity as if she were part of the storm. Then she lifted too, levitating off the bed, the sheets dripping down on either side of her thighs. 

" _ Chere _ ? Anna Marie?" Remy cupped her cheeks and opened up to her, tapping into the empathy so few knew was another facet of his mutation. He half-shouted as he had to immediately close himself off again. There was just too much emotion, too many people's emotions pouring from her slim body. Even that small touch pounded through his head, had his heart racing. 

" _ Mon coeur _ , come back to me, yeah?" There was no reaction. But behind her eyes it was as if something else moved. 

 

**Chapter 1: In the Gym**

**"Ain't** no one goin' in?" The whiskey drawl broke up the small pack of students gathered outside of the training room. Gambit might have been long out of school but that didn’t mean he didn’t recognize what was happening here. He remember the way people had looked side-eyed at him or gathered to whisper about him without actually approaching. At least, that’s what they did first. Gambit, he knew how to charm them folks right out of keeping their distance. Though he didn’t often spend long stretches at Xavier’s he supposed it was still a school and they were still teenagers and whoever was in that room must have been just enough other to spike different on the chart of mutations. Damn if the world wasn’t annoying, even here in one of his favorite places.

"No. " One of the boys he’d met earlier—Bobo or Bopsy, Remy didn't know one crew-cut sweater wearing GAP ad from the next—spoke after a lengthy pause. “Rogue's working out.”

Gambit lifted a brow. "One itty bitty _femme_ need a whole gym? What, her sweat poison?" He noted those that snickered, though his red on black eyes seemed to stay focused on their spokes-boy.

"Uh, no, not—"

"Well, den, I don't see a problem." With that, and a lazy wink to the girls in the group, he pushed into the gym. There was no worry the girl inside had heard the conversation as, rather than wear headphones, she had commandeered the radio; The Cure crooned moodily and loudly as she did leg presses in a studied rhythm. She did hear the door, or sense the shift in the air, because bright green eyes focused on Gambit. Her eyes were clear as emeralds and for a second she stole the breath right out of him. Maybe the girl was a witch, her hair curling sweaty and wild from the tail she’d pulled it back in, her eyes were...compelling. Vivid and clear. Then, they turned. All that bright went muddy as swamp bracken and she seemed to pull herself back. He could have sworn the room felt emptier.

Steadying himself internally, trying not to think of witches and spells and stories of hearts stolen and kept in bottles, he smiled lazy. "Hope you don't mind sharing, _chere_. Had a long flight, me,  and need a good workout, yeah?'

 

 **Rogue** said nothing in return to the man in the low slung sweats with the red-hot eyes. She purposefully turned her gaze forward and tried to resume counting, though she kept losing track. How could she keep track when he was loping toward her with more of their collective skin exposed than she had been comfortable with since her mutation had manifested? And his collective skin was burnished and stretched over long, lean muscle. The kind that one of Kitty's magazines would say only had 3% body fat. She figured he'd been warned about her own skin and the kinds of horror stories magazines would print about it so she concentrated on forgetting he was there.

But, the stranger didn’t seem to take the hint. "Hope you don't mind, Rogue, but it’s nice not having a crowd, yeah? Maybe next time I can introduce you to some zydeco." He chatted as if she had at any point responded to his words or his presence, his Cajun drawl just as amiable as when he'd walked in the door. Only now it was closer as he was sitting himself down on the machine next to hers. "Where are my manners? See a pretty _fille_ and I get all messed up. Some call me Gambit and it sure is a pleasure to meet you, _petite_."

Rogue turned to stare at the hand he extended. It was oddly gloved, with certain fingers completely free. Her own hands were unfettered. No one came in here when she worked out, too afraid of bumping up against her when they were wearing so little.

Except,  at first, she'd worn her gloves and sweats and a long-sleeved tee. It was only when she realized no one would come into the gym, however many might collect outside of it,  that she decided to take advantage of her isolation. She’d started wearing tank tops, then shorts and a tank and, finally, no gloves. "I can't."

"Someone told you not to talk to strangers?" Remy grinned, his tone playful as he withdrew his hand.

"No. I mean I can't shake your hand.” Her gaze flicked down to his gloves, then back up to the wall ahead of them. “Didn't anyone warn you?"

Remy shrugged. "Just that your sweat wasn't poison."

She laughed, short and humorless."So they forgot to mention that my skin is?"

 

 **He’d** been surprised by the drawl of her words when she spoke. Thought maybe he’d have someone to talk gumbo and football and all manner of other things with. The southern was sharp when she asked if he’d been warned, though, and whatever muddy rivers and firefly nights might have been conjured, he suddenly remembered southern women were made of steel.

Remy's gaze drifted from the girl's eyes to her pale skin, it was naturally gold-dusted but anyone could tell it didn't get much sunlight. "Non, _chere_ , no one mentioned you was poison at all." He looked up to catch her scowling down at him and lifted a brow in question.

"It don't turn yellow and leak gasses. But you touch me, even accidentally, and I take."

He thought she'd paused, trying to find the words to explain what those in the mutant world often called leaching. "Take what, _chere_?" He prompted softly, his gaze fixed on her face.

"Everything." For a moment, that hard look was gone; the simplicity of the loss in this one near to took his breath away. Then, she turned and even though she was in the room—pulling on a long sleeved shirt and pants over her shorts before shoving her fingers into gloves—the girl was gone.

 

 **Rogue** was sure her fellow Southerner would leave her alone, now that he was in the know. That was usually how it worked. And that meant she'd have her work out back and that was as she wanted it. She knew, now, who he was. She’d spent the last day pretending she didn't hear the girls whispering about the infamous Gambit, about how he disappeared on missions for months, about how, when he did stay at the mansion, he went out most nights only to return with his eyes heavy and trailing feminine perfume.

Rumours were he'd never been a student but he picked one every year to "tutor.” Of course, Rogue didn't hear those rumours. Nope. After all, no one was gossiping _with_ her about them. She certainly didn't hear the girls saying how much "help" they needed in any subject he chose to teach.

When she finally went back to the gym, assured that a day of Gambit’s hearing rumours about her (though in a probably more interactive fashion) would take care of any lingering desire of his to workout in the same space as her,  Rogue stripped out of sweats, peeled off her long-sleeved tee. She kept them close in case of emergencies. But just as she was about to tug her gloves off, she hesitated. What if he hadn’t heard the rumours? What if, just this once….She locked that train of thought down but she kept the gloves on. Really, she shouldn't have been so reckless as to not wear them in the first place.

As she settled into a run on the treadmill, Rogue also told herself she was not watching the door hoping someone would show up again in low-slung pants and black tank. Which meant she didn't have to whip her head towards a blank TV when he pushed into the room, his mouth all ready moving into a smile as he waved a CD at her. "We gon' share the radio, yeah? Today I bring you N'Awlins, tomorrow you pick." He winked, auburn lashes sweeping down as he closed one eye and Rogue wondered if the man dyed the damned things.

Into her silence the thief kept right on talking as he cranked up his music. "Now, dat's what I'm talkin' 'bout." He closed his eyes, swaying for a moment to the beat. When he started his amble to the treadmill it seemed to match the music and he pitched his voice to match the foreign words.

Rogue watched from the corner of her eyes. She expected the deserted quality of the gym would encourage him to choose a machine further away from her. What she didn’t know was that Remy, had she asked,  would've asked her how she thought they'd talk if he was clear across the room.

Since Rogue didn’t speak, all she heard was his crooning voice. It was...good. And, then, as he stepped onto the treadmill beside of her, he interupted his karaoke with:"Aw, now, _chere_ , you didn't have to go wearin' no gloves for me. I got my own."

Rogue listened to their machines slowly start to match pace before slanting him a look. "Your gloves don't offer quite the protection you need from me."

"I assure you, _chere_ , I don't never touch a woman without knowin' exactly how and where she wants me to touch her." His smile was wicked and, combined with his drawl, did most of the work charming any female he came across.

Anna Marie was not most women. Her gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Good. Bein' touched by you is about the last thing I'd want." And the last thing she'd expected in response was his laughter. It made it awful hard to keep down the twitch to the left side of her mouth that might have wanted to be a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary  
> Alohrs Pas—Of course not  
> Ami—friend  
> Arrete, toi—Stop, you  
> Assez—Enough  
> Belle—Pretty  
> Belle fille—pretty/beautiful girl  
> Bon—Good  
> Bonhomie—geniality; pleasant disposition  
> Bonne fête—Happy Birthday  
> Catin—doll (in Cajun French); in France it has come to mean prostitute but Cajun French adheres to an older tradition  
> Ce n'est pas ma faute — It's not my fault.  
> C'est tout—That's all  
> Cher—masculine for dear  
> Chère—feminine for dear  
> Chien—dog  
> Comment les affaires?—How are things?  
> couillon—fool (not particularly harsh and can even be used affectionately)  
> désolé—Sorry (masculine)  
> En sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie.— In her beauty rests (both) my death and my life. Quote from Maurice Scève, French poet  
> envie—hunger or craving for something; said to a person it would mean sexual desire e.g. J'ai envie de toi. (I want you. Note: A way of saying it with warmth, not vulgarly.)  
> exactement—exactly  
> famille— family  
> fille—girl  
> Fils de putain—son of a bitch  
> Gaienne—Girlfriend  
> Homme—man  
> Je t'aime — I love you.  
> Je t'adore — I adore you.  
> jolie fille—pretty girl; doll  
> la petite morte— literally: the little death; figuratively it is a reference to orgasm  
> Le Bon Dieu!—The Good God  
> Le Diable Blanc—The White Devil, one of the names Remy has been known by as his eyes 'cause people to think him demonic  
> ma— my (feminine)  
> Mais—well or of course, for emphasis  
> make themisère(or, make the misery)—to cause trouble for  
> mon—my (masculine or preceding a word beginning with a vowel)  
> mon ami—my friend  
> mon amour—my love  
> mon chou— my cabbage (French term of endearment)  
> mon coeur—my heart  
> mon loup — my wolf (French term of endearment)  
> non—no  
> Ouah!— Yes. More casual that oui, rather more like "yeah"  
> oui—yes  
> père — father  
> petite—Little (little girl)  
> petite bouche—little mouth  
> Pop chock—small brown bird  
> Qui—in this case, who (I am not getting too in depth on French grammar as apparently qui and que are interchangeable depending on whether they are a direct or an indirect objects)  
> Salope!—Bitch  
> Savate—French Kick Boxing, one of the styles of fighting Remy is known for  
> 'tite chatte—little cat  
> Viens ici—Come here


	2. Rumour Has It

**She** hadn’t scared him off, though. For three days he showed up when she worked out. For three days, he’d tucked himself onto a machine next to hers, tried to engage her in conversation. If she were honest, she’d have to admit that he sometimes succeeded in getting her to talk. He might even have made her laugh tonight, working out at what she’d accidentally thought of as “their time.” She might have confessed she liked his taste in music after he’d tugged her ponytail and asked her, point blank, what she thought.

He’d tugged her ponytail. It hadn’t been her skin, couldn’t be, but he’d just reached right out and touched her like it was nothing. She’d been carrying a kind of glow inside of her ever since. She’d also tugged her hair back into a tail, refusing to think about the why of it, before heading downstairs for dinner. She hadn’t seen him though and would have denied that she looked for him. She stopped looking once they crowded into the rec room for movie night.  She might have only known the Cajun for three days but she was pretty sure terrible action movies with a room full of teens wasn’t his idea of a fun Friday night.

While Rogue’s mind wandered, her only two friends leaned forward, arguing across her about the botched physics of the on-screen explosion. They seemed unaware that Rogue's gaze was unfocused and her attention internal. Not that her being unfocused was rare enough to make special note of, but, for once, it had nothing to do with the collateral personalities she'd acquired.

Little wonder, then, that she was startled by a quick tug on her curls. Rogue jerked, whipping her head only to find the irrepressible Cajun, the exact person she would not admit she’d been thinking about, sauntering out of the room. He turned back to wink and was awarded with a smile. It might have been close lipped and wry, but he'd gotten it. And it lingered. When she turned back to the movie, mouth still curved and that heat in her chest, Bobby and John had stopped arguing and were staring at her incredulously.

Rogue focused hard on the chase scene even though she had no idea who was chasing who or why.

Her friends did not take the hint that was her silence. They exchanged a look behind her and concluded, somehow, that Bobby should make the opening foray. With Remy well gone, Bobby said, "You two seem…close." Rogue blinked at the boy, her cool and unwavering gaze finally making him fidget and elaborate. "I only mean—"

"That he works out with you," John interrupted, trying to help, "touches you."

"No one touches me, John." Rogue’s voice was hard, harder than the inquiry warranted maybe. But hot embarrassment and the fact that no one ever touched her, could touch her was tangled up with her lingering pleasure that Remy wasn’t afraid of her. It was a fantasy, of course, his lack of fear. One they’d just shattered, whether they knew it or not.

Pushing up from her seat, the movie and her mood effectively ruined, Marie looked down at both boys, a strand of white curl obscuring her vision. "Did ya'll think you were always gonna be the only ones wanted to talk t'me?"

Bobby put his hand up, reaching for hers, but he stopped before he actually made contact with her gloves. "C'mon, Rogue, it's not like that."

"Sure it ain't, Bobby."

 

 **John** barely waited for her to leave before he hissed, "Why'd you have to say something?"

"Why'd you have to make it sound like they _do things_ together, " Bobby countered. "Everyone knows she can't."

Pyro's fingers lit and Bobby iced them instantly. "There's things she could _do,_ over the clothes or with some gloves."

A low, masculine chuckle interrupted the argument that didn't exclusively belong to the boys. The room wasn't exactly unoccupied, everyone had just been pretending, poorly, not to listen. "Ain't dat de truth." Neither Iceman nor Pyro thought the Cajun was being friendly. "But ya'll wouldn't be talkin' 'bout no ladies like dat, would you? 'Cause a gentleman, he don' kiss and tell."

"No, sir," Bobby answered, jaw tight, while Pyro merely shook his head.

"De name's Gambit. I ain't no teacher, _homme_ ." And he wasn't more than a couple years older than them. _Dieu_ , they were young fools, the both of them. A smile, wicked and knowing, slashed across his mouth before he left again and the room exploded into talk.

"Do you think he's kissed her—"

"Without passing out?"

"Maybe more."

"…could do whatever he wanted with me. And she has got to be a little bit desperate"

Bobby and John turned the television up and kept their mouths shut.

 

 **So** it was anyone's guess how Rogue heard the rumors the night's interplay had sparked while Gambit, well, hadn't.

Knowing he was to be at the next Danger Room training, Rogue arrived early, hoping to catch that good for nothing Bayou Boy before any of the others arrived. Luck was with her, for once.

"Rogue, _ma cherie_ ," she could have sworn his eyes were glowing as she stalked towards him, "you be early. _Bon_. You be on my team, yeah? I don't know 'bout those other fools a'tall." And, in fact, Rogue was right about the glow. Remy was glad to see her and he liked the way she was prowling towards him, her gold-dust skin flushed and her green eyes fixed. Right up until her palms slammed into his chest and shoved.

"How dare you?!"

Remy stumbled, unprepared for the blow or the accusation implied in the question." _Chere_ ,-

"Don't you call me that you flea-bitten Swamp Rat."

"Now, Rogue," he held up a placating hand and reached for her with the other; reached for her unwisely, a self-preserving voice in his head warned.

"They all think we're, that we're—" She couldn't even say it while looking into his eye. Instead, she swatted the hand about to curl around her wrist as an excuse to look away. "That you and I—that we've been…"

" _Chere_ ," her gaze came up and Remy had no doubt that if her power had been in her gaze he'd be unconscious on the concrete floor right now. "Rogue. I don't know what you're talking about. Who thinks we're what?"

"That you and me are sleepin' together, Swamp Rat." Remy was, for once, completely surprised. Rogue didn't notice, plowing ahead and stepping even closer. "Everyone seems to think ladies man _Gambit_ ," there was such acid in what sounded like a title when she said it, "found a way 'round my mutation and I'm just so damn grateful I fell into your lap. Literally."

Thankful she wasn't yelling and not unaware that people were starting to wander in, Remy grabbed her hand and held on tight when she tried to jerk away. His voice, clipped, said only, " _Assez,"_ as he turned them, effectively shielding her smaller frame from the curious looks.

He leaned in, ignoring the lethal look she was giving him; said, without a trace of his trademark playfulness. "Hush now and listen. We can't talk here and now 'bout this, but you tell me: You think they gonna act better if they realize I ain't afraid of you or if you so mad at the thought of someone kissing you that you kick this sorry Cajun's ass in front of 'em?"

He watched her mouth open, no doubt on a hot retort, but he leaned close enough his breath feathered her lips as he spoke. "I never told no one we did nothin' , Rogue." When she hesitated, he continued. "I don't spread lies about ladies and especially when I think mebbe you and me could be friends. After de Danger Room session, what say you and I get outta here? Talk dis thing out?" He waited to see if she'd pull away, say no, but again she didn't jump into the opportunity to reject him. He smiled slow, some of that playfulness taking the weighty edge off of sincerity, and went in for the kill. (He hoped. She was pretty damn hard to read.) "I'm flattered dey think you'd give me de time a day what with all those other boys buzzin' 'round. Mebbe you don't embarrass me in front of everyone just yet?"

She laughed suddenly. But, Remy, he knew that sounded, realized it was at her own expense, knew she thought he was feeding her an impossible line. Still, he was glad she wasn't ripping off her gloves and slamming her hand in his no good face.

"That looks like a yes. Dat a yess, _belle fille_?" He watched her, all but holding his breath, until she finally dipped her chin in a single, sharp nod.

Wolverine's gruff voice cut through then. "All right, come on. We aint' got all day."

So Gambit turned, keeping Rogue's leather gloved hand in his own. When he linked his fingers through hers, half-expecting them to slide away, he could feel her indecision like a vibration before they finally curled over his own.

 

 **W** **hen** they left the Danger Room, he’d given her a hard look. “Outside. Thirty minutes.” He'd showered and changed quickly, afraid if she beat him he'd have missed his opportunity to fix this. And he wasn't wrong, all ready had her figured with a poker player's accuracy. If he hadn't been out there when she stepped onto the wide stairs of the mansion, the double doors swinging shut under the impetus of their own weight, Rogue would've have gone back inside and written him off and a crowbar wouldn't have helped pry her foul opinion of him loose.

What exactly her current opinion of him was, however, was something of a mystery even to Rogue. "Of course," mumbled out of ear shot, thankfully, as she descended the stairs. Of course he had a motorcycle. Of course he was leaning there in a pair of sunglasses looking inscrutable and, as Kitty's magazines as well as every female at Xavier's would say, hot.

"Do you know how to ride that thing?"

"Of course." The moment she was in reach he captured a hand and encouraged her to get a little closer. "Don't worry, _chere,_ it's just to keep you safe." Proving his point, he brought up a helmet and settled it on her head. The man too his own sweet time adjusting it, brushing her hands away every time she made to take over. When it was finally fastened, he put on his own—rather more efficiently—and climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. Rogue had somehow thought he'd forgo the safety precaution. Self-preservation didn't seem a top priority.

And where was her own, anyway? She couldn't see faces pressed to windows, but that didn't mean they weren't there, watching as she swung on behind him, her thighs cradling his—there was, after all, little option to do otherwise. And how was this helping the rumours, exactly? At least she could keep contact to a minimum, her hands resting lightly at his sides and her torso tilted away from his.

At least, in theory. Turning his head slightly, just enough so Rogue could hear, Remy murmured in that high-summer swelter of a voice, "That ain't good enough, _chere_. Can't have you fallin' off." He pulled her hands around until they splayed against his stomach and the rest of her was plastered to his back. Giving her no time to protest or undo his work, the unrepentant Cajun took off at speeds ensuring Rogue was glad of the forced hold. She'd heard he liked it fast, she'd just thought everyone had only been talking about women.

At five minutes, the ride was longer than she'd expected. She never spent time this physically close to anyone when not fighting. Wolverine was the exception and being pressed up to him on a motorcycle wasn't exactly the same as being pressed up to Gambit. For one, Wolverine smelled familiarly of fresh cut wood and lemon grass and cigars; Gambit, on the other hand, smelled of cigarillos—not quite the same—and left her with the sense of an after-burn of a match-strike and something spicy and earthy that she couldn't name. Wolverine was solidity and reliability; Remy was volatile. It was just too intimate, hugging him around his lean waist, cheek pressed against his shoulder even if it was through the jacket.

But maybe being this close was better than the distance in a car, the kind of space that had to be filled. This way, they each rode tightly together but their thoughts were neatly compartmentalized. Private.

Remy certainly had no idea the petite girl holding onto him was wondering if he liked cherry cigarillos or what his red and black eyes would look like when they stopped warming at the sight of her, when he understood just what she was. When he'd seen her and one of her victims like the students at Xavier's had seen her with Wolverine after he'd accidentally stabbed her and she'd very nearly killed him in return.

And Remy had no intention of that same slim girl knowing that he liked the way a single red curl had tangled over his shoulder, into the collar of his jacket where it brushed his cheek and brought to mind apple blossoms. Scare her straight off, he knew, and send her back to silence and gym workouts with nothin' but 80s music to keep her company.

 **T** he bike and its riders took the curves fluidly and at high speeds, winding up and away from Xavier's, up and away from the city beyond. The sun was soon blocked by trees just greening and the air took on that particular quality of woods on mountains—crisp-edged, as if it never tasted heat, and thick with the smell of damp and decay in all the ways that made lungs expand and even the most novice of hikers want to trek into the wilderness as if to rediscover America's frontiers.

Eventually, asphalt gave way to a smaller, dirt-packed path and Rogue wondered if he wasn't taking her out there to ditch her. Carrie-esque pranks played out in vivid, blood-splashed detail. She'd been expecting a bar. Even a hole-in-the-wall that reeked of stale cigarettes and had floors sticky with substances it was better not to contemplate had seemed likely and acceptable. She'd figured he'd save the nicer places, the places where he picked up the owners of the perfume he trailed through the halls just before dawn, for times when he didn't have an untouchable pissed off freak to be embarrassed by; she hadn't expected him to chuck her into the woods to escape being seen with her.

He finally stopped, all but on the edge of a cliff, and they both climbed off and hooked their helmets loosely on the handles of his bike. There was certainly no one who was going to happen by and take them. Gambit remained what she guessed was uncharacteristically nonverbal, gesturing to the flat rocks and taking up residence on one so they'd both look out over the sun-bright world below.

She'd just sat down, crossing her legs, leather gloves scraping over rock, when his voice broke the quiet. "All right, _petite_ , let's have it."

"Have what?"

Remy looked over the small chin, the hint of a scowl tugging at her winged brows, and the guarded green eyes. "All the things you wanted to yell, _chere_ . Cain't no one hear but me and you now," he splayed his hands, gesturing to their isolated location as if he expected her to pick up from where she'd shoved him. When she simply gawped back, apparently struck dumb by his offer, he continued. "I help you find your place, _f_ _ille_. I think it was something like 'You flea-chewed Swamp—'"

"That's enough. " Reliably, a slight smile edged his mouth. "I was pissed off. They were saying—" she stopped, pulling air in through nearly closed lips. "Look, Cajun, you're the one wanted t'talk."

"You sure are cute when you poutin', _ange_ ." Remy had to swallow a laugh; he was fairly certain she'd growled at him. Obviously, the _petite fille_ spent too much time with the Wolverine. "Rogue, I didn't do this _._ I got a reputation, c _here_ , and you, well, so do you."

It wasn't exactly the apology she'd been expecting. "Yeah, for being untouchable. Which doesn't explain –

He held up a hand, arresting the rest of her complaint. "Naw, well, yeah, you do but not just for that." Remy took his time getting comfortable. He, crooked an arm on an up-drawn knee and produced a quarter to flip over the back of his gloved fingers. Rogue didn’t intrude and turned to study her in profile. Stubborn. The girl was just pure damn stubborn. Damn if that didn’t make him smile.

 _"Chere_ , most of dem just don't know what to do with you. They unsure of you, intimidated. You end up in my bed, well, I am de master seducer," his grin was a lightning strike, "and you suddenly just a little more like 'em, yeah? A little less above of 'em all."

The man was obviously insane. "A little less above them? Are you crazy? I ain't nothin' but dirt to most of 'em. If it weren't for Bobby and John—"

"Benny and the firebug part o' why everyone look at you dat way." His free hand came up, stopping the protest as it prepared to launch from lips screwed up into indignation. "Brad's the kinda boy you girls dream about, no?"

He seemed to want an answer and Rogue wasn't about to tell him there was more than one kind of boy girls dreamed about. He'd probably take it exactly as she meant it: he was the other. "Maybe. Some girls, sure."

"Yeah, ya'll scribble his last name with yours and think about you gonna have a picket fence and a golden retriever. But that boy? That sweet dream in a sweater? He ain't got nothin' but eyes for you. And, _petite,_ everyone knows he ain't there tryin' to get in your pants."

"Don't sugarcoat it or anything. I take powers temporarily, that don't make me invincible," muttered darkly back at him.

Remy's responding smile hung crooked and easy on his face, as natural as the crescent moon hung in the sky and equally as alien to Rogue. "What I mean, _chere_ , is that no matter how much he want you, he ain't stickin' around thinkin' you gonna give him the _one_ thing _every other_ boy hangin' around _every other_ girl for. And then you got bad attitude firebug, ain't nobody's idea of a prince, doin' the same damn thing. De girls, dey don't know what you got, but they wish they had it."

"Then they're ignorant."

"Mebbe. But you ain't gotta worry anyone's stayin' around to get in your pants, no? And most of them, they figure that's the only reason boys stickin' around with them."'

"Naw, people just hang around me for the novelty."

One bare finger and one gloved one scissored around a curl and tugged. He waited until she'd turned to face him again before saying, "Dat ain't why dem boys hangin' 'round. And it ain't why I am either. "

She was quiet a long time, but Remy Etienne LeBeau was a man with practically infinite patience. No one guessed it. They saw him as a playboy and a gambler, a man who took his gratification immediately and as frequently as he could get it. What only a few were privy too was that his real talent lay in the long game. Rogue didn't stand a chance; she was a pure tyro.

Eventually, her voice drawled, "Did you mean it?"

"If I said it to you I'm sure I did." Rogue's eyes narrowed and Remy's smile widened at the sight. "Did I mean what, Rogue?"

"About us bein' friends?" Her fingers picked at a hole in her jeans, pulling out white threads while she cast him quick sideways glances.

 _"Oui._ "

Her brows rose when he failed to elaborate and his smile seemed to pick up, again, in infuriating correlation to her frustration. Exasperated, she bit out, "Why?"

"Mebbe it's the southern connection."

"Try again, Romeo."

He tipped his head back and laughed, all but roared with it. "Mebbe it's dat right there, _petite_. You got some mouth on you."

"I'm sassy enough to be your token un-slept with female side-kick?"

The bitter disgust in her tone only amused him more, plus the moue made with her mouth looked just like she'd tasted something sour and foul. Irresistible, that. He just had to reach out and stroke it. Of course she dodged away from the touch.

" _Non, chere,_ sassy enough to keep me inline, honest enough I can trust you, smart enough not to bore me, and pretty enough to stare at most all the hours of the day." When she rolled her eyes in obvious disbelief and dismissal, his smile fell. " _Non._ Dat's de truth, or part of it. Some of the rest you ain't gonna believe just yet and some of the other you don't wanna hear, but that don' change what's true. " Again, a seriousness all those rumours she hadn't heard hadn't prepared her for seemed thick between them. "You decide what you gonna do with it."

Rogue wanted to say his next move had him stalking away but the mutant's long-limbed stride was too loose for that. No, he was prowling away from her. And while it was exactly why she'd pushed and exactly what she expected—if not now, _soon_ —she didn't like the sight of his back, already missed that moon-crooked smile and the dangerous way he invaded her personal space. "Alright."

"Alright, what?"

Rogue took a deep breath. Then another. He didn't try to fill in the words she was struggling with. "Alright. Despite the fact that you got a reputation two shades darker than black, a tongue practically made from sugar cane—which ain't no compliment so stop your grinnin'---and I've only known you three damn days, I believe you. About most of it. The important stuff." His shoulders were shaking as she qualified her conditional belief.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Oh, just laugh, damn it. I believe you didn't tell anyone we were—that you had—that I— _that._ And that you ain't tryin' to get in my pants," the next part was said low and for herself, "mostly 'cause that'd kill ya," before she picked up volume again, "so we can be—try to be—friends." That just felt idiotic to say out loud, especially when he was laughing at her and she knew it.

But when Gambit turned back, prowling again, looking like he was going to snap her up in those strong white teeth and take a nice bite out of her, there was nothing mocking about him. " _Bon._ You gonna love bein' my friend, _chere_."

His voice was practically tangible and if it had been, it would have been touching her in unsafe ways. "Don't make me regret this, Cajun."

"I'm'a make you wonder what took you so long."

"I've only known you for three days."

"Exactly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary  
> Alohrs Pas—Of course not  
> Ami—friend  
> Arrete, toi—Stop, you  
> Assez—Enough  
> Belle—Pretty  
> Belle fille—pretty/beautiful girl  
> Bon—Good  
> Bonhomie—geniality; pleasant disposition  
> Bonne fête—Happy Birthday  
> Catin—doll (in Cajun French); in France it has come to mean prostitute but Cajun French adheres to an older tradition  
> Ce n'est pas ma faute — It's not my fault.  
> C'est tout—That's all  
> Cher—masculine for dear  
> Chère—feminine for dear  
> Chien—dog  
> Comment les affaires?—How are things?  
> couillon—fool (not particularly harsh and can even be used affectionately)  
> désolé—Sorry (masculine)  
> En sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie.— In her beauty rests (both) my death and my life. Quote from Maurice Scève, French poet  
> envie—hunger or craving for something; said to a person it would mean sexual desire e.g. J'ai envie de toi. (I want you. Note: A way of saying it with warmth, not vulgarly.)  
> exactement—exactly  
> famille— family  
> fille—girl  
> Fils de putain—son of a bitch  
> Gaienne—Girlfriend  
> Homme—man  
> Je t'aime — I love you.  
> Je t'adore — I adore you.  
> jolie fille—pretty girl; doll  
> la petite morte— literally: the little death; figuratively it is a reference to orgasm  
> Le Bon Dieu!—The Good God  
> Le Diable Blanc—The White Devil, one of the names Remy has been known by as his eyes 'cause people to think him demonic  
> ma— my (feminine)  
> Mais—well or of course, for emphasis  
> make themisère(or, make the misery)—to cause trouble for  
> mon—my (masculine or preceding a word beginning with a vowel)  
> mon ami—my friend  
> mon amour—my love  
> mon chou— my cabbage (French term of endearment)  
> mon coeur—my heart  
> mon loup — my wolf (French term of endearment)  
> non—no  
> Ouah!— Yes. More casual that oui, rather more like "yeah"  
> oui—yes  
> père — father  
> petite—Little (little girl)  
> petite bouche—little mouth  
> Pop chock—small brown bird  
> Qui—in this case, who (I am not getting too in depth on French grammar as apparently qui and que are interchangeable depending on whether they are a direct or an indirect objects)  
> Salope!—Bitch  
> Savate—French Kick Boxing, one of the styles of fighting Remy is known for  
> 'tite chatte—little cat  
> Viens ici—Come here


	3. Petite Bouche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sass, lectures, and more sass.

Their obvious friendship did nothing to deter the rumours. In fact, just the opposite. So much so that Remy found himself in two very different, very uncomfortable conversations in one day. And just when he was behaving his most admirably towards a female of the species that he wasn't closely related to.

_ It was Wolverine in the kitchen with a wrench. _ Remy had seen his death writ large on the other man's face for days, every time Logan caught Remy and Rogue together whether it was in the gym during their daily workout, teamed up or fighting in the Danger Room, or grabbing a snack in the kitchen. Didn't matter how innocuous the activity, Logan's look read dismemberment, disembowelment; lots of taking him apart, in other words. So Gambit, smart man that he was, should've left the minute the Wolverine came in smeared in grease and a muscle already jumping in his jaw. Instead, Remy leaned back against the counter and sipped his beer.

It didn't take long. Wolverine was predictable at least. He growled. That made Remy think of petite little Rogue snarling through her teeth at him and he chuckled, low and throaty and wasted on his current audience. "Hey,  _ cher _ , your bike actin' up?"

Ignoring what he said, Logan opted for scowling at the beer can dangling from the younger man's hands. "Isn't it a little early for that?" His voice was sandpaper and rusty nails, probably needed a tetanus shot just from talking to him.

"Naw, Saturday and we 'bout to cook out. Beers de only drink that's right." A salute of the can punctuated the answer.

Logan snatched his own beer from the fridge, either oblivious to the hypocrisy or just not giving two fucks. Might could be either, Remy figured. "Look, kid, I don't like you."

Feigning shock, Remy placed one swift-fingered hand on his chest. " _ Le Bon Dieu! _ I thought me and you was—how your students say it—besties? Or at least frenemies,  _ cher _ ."

Logan looked like he wanted to use his teeth instead of his claws to de-throat him. "We don't like each other. You're a reckless smart ass. And that was fine until you got in my way."

"Oh! You want de sink,  _ homme _ ?  _ Pardon." _ With a half-bow and a flourish of his empty hand, Gambit slid out of the way.

"Stop actin' as dumb as I think you are, Gumbo. Rogue ain't gonna be some notch on your belt."

A flicker of irritation went hot in Gambit's gut. Patience, when warranted, he had in abundance, but that didn't mean he didn't also have a wicked temper.

"You ain't gonna hurt her."

"Me? Hurt Rogue?" Remy took a sip of his beer, leaning against the counter as if he felt as casual as his patois sounded. "Like mebbe I shouldn't stab her with my adamantium claws, you mean?" The can Logan was holding was suddenly in structural duress. " _ Non? _ You got somethin' else in mind? Mebbe I shouldn't ignore her, exclude her, talk 'bout how she a freak, de kind even de other freaks don' like?" The mild tone was slipping and he set his own beer aside, fingers itching to charge something and fling it at Logan. The other man'd be fine. He could survive just about anything, no?

"Look, bub,-"

" _ Assez _ . You look, Logan, I know de girl for a week. And I know she ain't doin' jus' fine widout me. You know I can't seduce her a—

"You and I both know you could."

Teeth gritted, ground together, but he pushed on. "I ain't jus' gonna leave her alone like you all have 'cause you say so. She so lonely she cain't see straight and what you doin' about it,  _ homme _ ? 'Sides tryin' to scare one out of the three, mebbe four, people who even speak t'her?"

Somehow, between the temper and the words they found themselves toe to toe in the middle of the mansion's spotless kitchen. "She's got friends, Gumbo, better 'en you. Don't tell me how to-"

"Help her? Is anyone even tryin' to teach her to control her mutation? Or ya'll jus' think she screwed? Mebbe you hope she is, Logan; she sure cain't leave you alone if she cain't be with anyone else."

That's when Logan shoved his hands into the lanky, younger mutant and sent him slamming into the counter he'd been leaning on moments before. Remy was about to retaliate when a feminine voice stopped him cold.

"Is there a problem?" Jean Grey. She stood cool and lovely in the doorway, Scott at her back. Once they were in front of the grill they'd look like an ad for a fancy barbecue or a new suburban development catering to young, yuppy couples. 

Remy still liked her though. His sudden smile to her was crooked but it never did reach his red on black eyes. "No,  _ chere _ , just chattin' with my 'ol friend, Logan. T'ink dis chat's over, though." Leaving behind his beer, as well as Jean and Scott and the Wolverine, he went to see if he couldn't settle himself down before the cook out.

Which naturally meant he ran into Ororo half-dancing down the stairs; he wasn't sure if it was good luck or bad that had hold of him, but either way Lady Luck was a bitch. "Remy. Just who I was looking for."

He never let his ambivalence show, his smile smooth as alarm bells sounded. "I love it when beautiful women come looking for me. How may I serve you?"

"Are you joining us for the cookout?"

"Dat's my plan,  _ belle _ . May I escort my favorite lady at Xavier's?" Formally offering his arm, he smiled down at the diminutive and terrifyingly powerful woman.

Arms linked, she started them down the hall. "Am I?"

"My favorite?  _ Oui. _ You know dis, Ororo."

"I thought maybe you had a new favorite, say with green eyes and —

"Not you too," he practically groaned. Ororo's brows rose in question. "You gonna give me the 'Don't mess with Rogue' speech, yeah? Don't seduce her and leave her inna slum hotel, used, with a coke needle sticking outta her arm?"

Her laugh was incredulous, shocked, but not amused as she stalled him and stepped in his path. "Why would you ever think I would say such a thing to you or think such a thing about you?"

Her faint accent thickened, as he knew it did with strong emotion. Made his skin feel tight. "De Wolverine done read me da riot act 'bout how she got enough friends and don't need no trashy thief."

Remy couldn't look her in the eye. Ororo was one of the few he'd gotten close to outside of his family and she knew too much. 

Every bit of that knowledge was in her softly spoken, "He's wrong, Remy. Logan's wrong."

"Tell me. Dat girl got mebbe three friends and a whole lotta nothin' else."

"Yes, he's wrong about her, but he's also wrong about you." Fed up with the way he kept looking down the hall as if expecting someone-or hoping for anyone—she placed one hand against his strong jaw. She didn't push. She waited for the young man—Logan forgot he was still so young—to meet her gaze. 

"You may be a thief, and a gifted one," his smile tugged at her, "but you are also a good man, Remy LeBeau. No—" She could see him folding up, about to put on the charm in order to derail this conversation, but Storm wasn't having any of it. "You cannot hide it from me with sly words and flirtation. I know who you are and what you do for us out there. And I know what it costs you."

They locked eyes for a long time before he tilted his head, pressing his cheek into her palm and pressing his hand over hers to keep it just there. "You undo me. Every time."

Not enough. No one ever got much deeper than that vivid personality. "What I was going to say before your untimely interruption," pointed both in voice and look now, "is that I wouldn't mind if I was being taken down to your number two spot. I think you'll be good for each other. Don't let her scare you off."

"It ain't like dat."

Storm withdrew her hand, linking their arms once more. "I never said it was. Now, let's eat."

"Yes, ma'am." They resumed walking but Remy had one last thing to say on the subject: "I don't scare easy."

  
  


**W** as he so dangerous that Rogue, the untouchable girl, wasn't even safe in his debauched company? Remy scrubbed a hand over his face, unable to shake the Wolverine's accusations. Sure, Storm had countered them, but the Wolverine had a more accurate view of the Prince of Thieves, or so Gambit thought as he stared out at the cookout.

Rogue was out there, gaze going from Jimmy twirling fire on his hand, to skimming the rest of the yard. Maybe she was looking for Icecube, "Or mebbe she lookin' for you." She was going to have to be disappointed if that was the case. He was feeling just a little raw; enough that he'd ditched Ororo at the door saying he'd left his beer back in the kitchen and he'd be right back out. Bold-faced lie he'd told to the weather witch, too, and one she didn't seem to buy though she let him go.

What did anyone expect? How was he supposed to be a better kind of man or have any kind of anything when every other month he had to put on those old wolf's clothes in order to do his damn job? Mutants everywhere thought he was a free agent whose loyalties could be temporarily purchased for the right price. Couldn't trust the thief no farther than you could throw him, o'course, but he had quite a set of skills—and the most marketable ones had nothin' to do with his mutation.

" _ Merde." _

"Is it that bad, then?" Xavier's voice was cultured and warm and it cut through Remy like a knife.

"Professor." Turning slowly, the Cajun schooled his features and tamped down his frustrations.

"I'm sorry I've been away since you returned. I had hoped we'd have a chance to speak sooner than this. Is everything well with you?"

The Professor, he looked worried, and that was the last thing Gambit wanted. " _Mais_ _yeah_ , Professor, the mission went down just like we planned it. Not too much improvisin' required." A wicked smile making the statement that he'd enjoyed what improvising there had been.

"I had heard that, of course, Gambit." Charles' smile was slight, one of those elegant hands turning. "However, I meant rather more personally. I know these missions can be…quite difficult… and the last was more so than most."

"Naw, just a longer one."

"You were imbedded with the Brotherhood during a particularly volatile time and a confrontation with your fellow X-Men."

"I managed to keep away from New York and keep my cover, Professor. Everyone t'inks I come here to get a little information and you let me 'cause you a soft touch." The wolfish smile said he was amused by everyone's perceptions.

But the Professor looked troubled as he turned his wheelchair and gestured for Remy to sit. "I'm rather less worried about your cover remaining intact than I am how this is all affecting you. There seem to be…concerns, from some of the team since you've returned."

Everything inside Remy went still. Charles too? Charles was worried he was a bad influence on Rogue too? That he was gonna use her? Pervert her? That he wasn't good enough to be friends with that complicated, sad-eyed girl? That he'd twist her need for a friend like that? "Den mebbe it's time I go."

Silence was only momentary and, on Xavier's end, stemmed partially from confusion. "Gambit, I'm sorry, I believe I have mishandled this. Has something happened? Jean expressed her concern to me about the toll this line of work and our extreme reliance on you to accomplish it could have. Hank also." Fingers steepled, brow furrowed, and his warm tone became ripe with regret. "We had planned to speak with you about a lengthier break when you returned this time, but I was called away, and, unfortunately, we have need of you again. And, yet, I don't believe that's what's bothering you now. "

_ Merde. _ He'd gotten it wrong. "No, Professor. No. Jus'—itichin' to get back to work, yeah?"

Charles knew that to push the young mutant on the point, to try and attempt to force his confidence would bring staunch and charming opposition. Instead, he nodded at Remy's redirect. "Very well. You'll have another several weeks here, but then, I'm afraid, we'll be sending you to Ireland for a time."

"Ain't been there in awhile. Should be fun." Several weeks, was it? He'd make the most of them.

"Yes, well, I don't doubt that you can find a way to make most situations enjoyable, Gambit." Gambit could hear the amused affection and approval charging the Professor's voice. "But, we'll leave the details for later. I have one more person I need to speak with to arrange a meeting. Have you seen, Rogue, by chance?"

"Sure, Professor. She outside, at the cookout."

"Ah, perfect. " When the professor started for the door, Remy moved in front to get it for him.

"I was jus' 'bout to go find her myself, Professor. Why don' I show you where she is." And find out what the Professor wanted with the girl too. His short-lived pity party was off the calendar. If he only had a handful of weeks, he was going to make them count and the Wolverine could sit on his own damn claws and spin.

  
  


**O** utside, Remy homed in on Rogue right away. She was with Tweeldee and Tweedledum, o'course. Not that he didn't appreciate their refusal to bow to the masses where the distrust of Rogue was concerned, but damn if he didn't wish it was Colossus or Kitty she was currently laughing at. And she was. Laughing, that is.

"Where y'at,  _ belle fille _ ?" Called well before he and the professor were close enough that he wouldn't have had to yell.

Her gaze came up, her smile seeming to brighten as it met his before skimming over Professor X. Remy was already well used to the way she drew up the shadows and blotted out whatever was going on in the quick-fire mind of hers. Her bookends also looked up and, he was pleased to note, looked at him with a hint of trepidation. Remy'd never outed them to Rogue, didn't see how their accidental insinuations being made known would help her. But damn if he didn't like that the thought that he would scared them. Or maybe it was just his devil-red eyes? Didn't care as long as whatever it was didn't wear off.

"John, Bobby. How are you?" They answered the professor; Remy tuned them out. Tuned back in again when the conversation included Rogue. "Rogue, my dear, I was hoping we could resume our sessions as early as this evening? Provided you do not have plans that I would be interfering with."

"Ah, no, sir. Eight o'clock still a'right, Professor?"

"Perfect. I'll see you in my study. I hope you all enjoy the festivities."

'You ain't stayin'?"

"Unfortunately, my extended trip has left a few matters pending and they need my immediate attention. I will be taking some of the fine food with me to my office. I've heard excellent things about the coleslaw."

For whatever reason, that had Rogue's gold-dust skin pinking as the Professor moved off.

Colossus' shout for Bobby and John saved them all from more than a few seconds of awkwardness. "Come! You must join the game!"

"Yeah, sure!" Bobby shouted back, giving John a nudge when he started to protest. "Rogue? You playing?"

"No." Of course she wasn't. How many of her classmates did they hope to make unconscious at the cookout? If the answer was more than five, then she was sure to be picked swiftly for one of the teams, otherwise she figured it was wise to steer clear of contact sports. Or sports with team members. Tennis was probably a safe bet, had she any idea how to play tennis.

Bobby shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, tucking his hands into his cargo shorts before giving a nod. "We'll find you when it's time to eat, okay?"

Gambit was delighted with the noncommittal sound she made in turn and watched the boys run off. "You like scarin' 'em, don't you?"

Nothing feigned in his wolfish white smile. "Sure do,  _ petite _ , an' it so easy." When she moved off, he moved with her, watching as she picked up supplies and started arranging them on one of the picnic tables. "Why you fixin' up de table,  _ chere _ ? This here the definition of casual dinin'." Moving in behind her, his body became a cage: hands rested on the table on either side of her hips and he settled his chin to her shoulder. "Leave the work t'Scott. He like borin' stuff."

"Are you calling me boring, Gambit?" Jean's voice again and this time the smile reached the Cajun's eyes. He tipped his head, leaning it against Rogue's so they looked at Jean in tandem, though their expressions couldn't have been more different.

"Of course not,  _ jolie fille _ . You de one exception in his dull life." Scott was also in hearing range, turning the first batch of burgers and hot dogs, but Remy meant for him to hear, would've raised his voice if Cyclops had been further away.

Jean's laughter was rich and as bright as her shining red hair. "Did you hear that, handsome? Gambit says I'm your excitement."

Scott ignored Remy completely, but smiled down into her alabaster face with its shining smile. "He's not as dumb as everyone says, I guess."

Rogue's snort of laughter was worth the insult. "Oh, you think that funny,  _ petite _ ?" This time only loud enough for her to hear, his smoky voice right at her ear, mouth so close it brushed auburn strands when he spoke.

"Sure do,  _ cher." _

How was he not supposed to nuzzle her-her thick curls—a skin-to-skin buffer zone—when she sassed him like that? "Now you in trouble."

"Sure I am. Was there somethin' you wanted, Gambit?"

It wasn't the kind of question he usually got asked with exasperation by females. "Mmhm. There's lots o' things I want,  _ chere _ ."

Apparently unimpressed, she slapped down the cup she'd been pouring plastic cutlery into. He knew she wouldn't turn, wouldn't risk her their faces brushing, even though it would have been on him for invading her carefully cultivated personal perimeter.

"What do you want with me?" Rogue saw no reason for him to know that his accented whispers and the heat radiating off of his body affected her like any normal, non-poisonous female. Which is to say, he didn't need to know that she enjoyed the attention and felt the tingle of his flirtation, however truly platonic, straight down to her toes.

He made a sort of tsking sound, his tongue tapping the back of his teeth as he nudged her around until they were face to face. "And I thought you don' wan' no more rumours to start, but dere you go askin' dangerous questions in public."

"Gambit," should have sounded like a reproach, but the laugh at the end ruined the affect.

"Rogue." Hands still on her hips, he did lean back a little. "I jus' want you to come out and play,  _ petite. C'est tout _ ."

"I am out." She flung her arms wide, nearly knocking him out in the process. Scott's laughter was duly ignored by them both.

"But you ain't havin' any fun."

"Was until you showed up."

He loved that she had a quick mind with a slow drawl, couldn't help but grin as she won the point. "Come on,  _ petite bouche _ , come swimmin' wid me."

Laughter came as recklessly as the suggestion. "Absolutely not. You got a death wish? Half-fingerless gloves tryin' to shake my hand now you wanna swim? Is one of us gonna be in a dive suit, Gambit?"

Did she ever swim? Or only alone? Such a simple thing not to be able to do. Then, she surprised him: "Try again, Cajun."

"A'right. On one condition. If you say no again, you forfeit all say. Means whatever I suggest after that, you gotta do. No matter what."

"I ain't agreein' to that."

"Sure you are,  _ chere _ ."

Slim arms he knew to be well defined and strong crossed. "And why is that?"

That slow, wicked smile said it all. He was going to push her until she caved and it could go one of many ways, but most likely they would all embarrass the hell out of her. He didn't even have to say it. Her capitulation came quickly and grudgingly. "You win! Fine!"

"Naw,  _ chere _ , you gotta say it."

Her jaw worked but eventually she bit it out. "If I say no to your next proposition—which had better be reasonable—I will have to do whatever it is you suggest next. Satisfied?"

"Not by a long shot," rumbled. "Dance wid me."

"There ain't no music!"

"So, we sing. Mary Chapin Carpenter, mebbe?" She'd chosen it for their workout two nights ago. "Mm. Shut up and kiss me."

"No. N-n-no, no, no."

"No, we ain't signin' or no we ain't dancin'? You think about that for a minute. I got time."

Skittering her look away from the red on black eyes, too damn knowing by half, and the smile that lurked near his mouth, ready to break free in triumph, Rogue instead watched the football game Colossus was trying to keep organized. Not that a bunch of mutants, aged six and up, could play a normal game of touch football. Still, the chaos was somehow progressing and a score was being tallied.

"We definitely ain't singin'." A pause and she looked back. "And we ain't dancin'. So, now what?"

"Now nothin'."

Her brow furrowed and she swore if his smiles kept getting wider every time she frowned she was going to break her own rules and shove her bare hand into one of those toothy, sexy grins. "But you said—"

"I didn' say I was gonna call in my marker right now,  _ petite _ . 'Sides, if I try to drag you away from de food, what you gonna do? Complain. 'Cause I didn' think to pack any birdseed, Pop chock, and I know how you like t'eat."

Yup. That was her luck. Handsome older man and he comments on her appetite and her tendency to get what some people had started referring to as hangry. "I didn't agree to do whatever whenever you decided—"

"Ah, ah, ah. But you did. Jean, was there any time limit on when I suggested a third activity for us to partake in?"

"There was not." Jean's voice was close and Gambit could hear the smile in it. He didn't look, but watched as Rogue did, obviously only just realizing they'd had some sort of audience for the entire exchange. "Nor any other stipulations on circumstance or activity. I'm afraid you've been had, Rogue, and now Remy's holding all the cards."

"Jus' how I like it.  _ Merci, jolie fille _ ." Remy leaned back, letting go of jean-clad hips, all smug masculinity. "Want me t'help you set de table den?"

"I want you to go away before I question why I thought bein' your friend was a sound plan."

Remy's laughter drew attention, but damn if the man didn't always draw attention. "For sure,  _ petite _ , it was. I let you do your work and catch you later,  _ non _ ?" Gambit backed away, not taking his eyes off of her until he was several feet away, laughing all the while. Sure, he hadn't found out what those sessions were with Charles, but he would and that had been a fine way to pass the time. And now she owed him one something to be determined.  _ Oui _ , fine way to pass the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary  
> Alohrs Pas—Of course not  
> Ami—friend  
> Arrete, toi—Stop, you  
> Assez—Enough  
> Belle—Pretty  
> Belle fille—pretty/beautiful girl  
> Bon—Good  
> Bonhomie—geniality; pleasant disposition  
> Bonne fête—Happy Birthday  
> Catin—doll (in Cajun French); in France it has come to mean prostitute but Cajun French adheres to an older tradition  
> Ce n'est pas ma faute — It's not my fault.  
> C'est tout—That's all  
> Cher—masculine for dear  
> Chère—feminine for dear  
> Chien—dog  
> Comment les affaires?—How are things?  
> couillon—fool (not particularly harsh and can even be used affectionately)  
> désolé—Sorry (masculine)  
> En sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie.— In her beauty rests (both) my death and my life. Quote from Maurice Scève, French poet  
> envie—hunger or craving for something; said to a person it would mean sexual desire e.g. J'ai envie de toi. (I want you. Note: A way of saying it with warmth, not vulgarly.)  
> exactement—exactly  
> famille— family  
> fille—girl  
> Fils de putain—son of a bitch  
> Gaienne—Girlfriend  
> Homme—man  
> Je t'aime — I love you.  
> Je t'adore — I adore you.  
> jolie fille—pretty girl; doll  
> la petite morte— literally: the little death; figuratively it is a reference to orgasm  
> Le Bon Dieu!—The Good God  
> Le Diable Blanc—The White Devil, one of the names Remy has been known by as his eyes 'cause people to think him demonic  
> ma— my (feminine)  
> Mais—well or of course, for emphasis  
> make themisère(or, make the misery)—to cause trouble for  
> mon—my (masculine or preceding a word beginning with a vowel)  
> mon ami—my friend  
> mon amour—my love  
> mon chou— my cabbage (French term of endearment)  
> mon coeur—my heart  
> mon loup — my wolf (French term of endearment)  
> non—no  
> Ouah!— Yes. More casual that oui, rather more like "yeah"  
> oui—yes  
> père — father  
> petite—Little (little girl)  
> petite bouche—little mouth  
> Pop chock—small brown bird  
> Qui—in this case, who (I am not getting too in depth on French grammar as apparently qui and que are interchangeable depending on whether they are a direct or an indirect objects)  
> Salope!—Bitch  
> Savate—French Kick Boxing, one of the styles of fighting Remy is known for  
> 'tite chatte—little cat  
> Viens ici—Come here


	4. The Hard Questions

**P** rofessor Xavier's office was always welcoming despite the fact that it should have intimidated the hell out of her. The tall book shelves, the smell of old leather and old money along with the heavy desk that indicated someone important worked here should have added up to a place Anna Marie D'Ancanto had no right being. But, instead, she sank into one of the couches comfortably and sighed as she snugged in. Even though she hated what was about to happen down to the very marrow of her bones, she knew it helped, knew his intentions were golden, and knew that if she were better at handling her mutation these sessions wouldn't be necessary and Professor X would have several more hours a week to dedicate to more important things than her splintered mind.

The professor didn't see it this way, but he well knew Rogue's take on their sessions together. "Rogue, you're looking lovely today. It's been nearly two weeks since we were last together, have you continued the exercises?"

"Sure have, Professor."

"And are you finding them helpful?"

"I want t'tell you yeah and that I'm doin' just fine, but I don't think so. Some days are better than others, I guess."

"Rogue," he rolled towards her, reaching for her gloved hands, "this is not about what I want to hear, but about how you are progressing. I know it's difficult for you to allow this, to have me in your mind."

"No." She clutched at his hands. "I mean, yeah, I wish you didn't…have to be in my head but it helps. It does. Maybe I'll figure out how to keep them all from talking and takin' over if we keep at it, yeah?" She sighed and a white curl fluttered over her eyes; she left it so she could leave her hands where they were.

"I think, my dear, that you are harder on yourself than you need be. You have made progress. Let's take a look, shall we?"

 

**A** fter, always, after, she was drained. Her heart tangled and raw. It's why they'd decided to do the work so late. It was early enough that, on a good day, she could catch a movie with the others or study, if she felt up to it, but late enough she could retire to her room and stay away from everyone without rousing concern. She had plenty of company in her own head, thanks.

That first night, after the cookout, Remy had been waiting for her. He'd wanted her to watch a movie with him, not his "something" chit, he was saving that. But she'd shook her head and instead he'd walked her back to her room, those damnable eyes of his reading too much as she drug herself up the stairs. Little did she know it wasn't just his gaze, it was his empathy. Little did she know he'd ended up back in Charles' office minutes after she'd shut the door to her room.

"What the hell, Professor? She look like she done watch her best friend and her best boy behind the Quickie-Mart makin' out before killin' her best dog."

"That's a colorful way to put it, Remy." The Professor continued sorting papers on his desk, putting them away or into a basket in some complicated system Remy wasn't privy to and didn't care to understand.

"What de hell happened in here?"

"That's confidential. As you've also been on the receiving end of my confidentiality, I'm sure you can understand why I am not at liberty to tell you more."Remy leaned over the desk and the Professor's eyes settled on the young man's face. Anguish wasn't something he was used to seeing there. 

"Professor, she hurts, aches," he slammed a fist into his heart. "I can feel it. She didn't walk in this room with an open wound in her chest but she came out with a shotgun blast right there."

If Rogue had known what Remy could feel from her, or had known what the Professor said to him then, she'd have been furious. It was her damn problem, her damn mind—more or less, and her damn heart. Of course, it was also why it was only a handful of the X-Men who knew Gambit had more punch than his blasting charge. Between the empathy and the way he could manipulate emotion, well, he was perfect for his work, but hard for most people to trust. Unlike Rogue, he had the luxury of keeping some secrets.

What Rogue did know is that every night she'd met with the Professor since then, she'd come into her room to find a care package: drink—water or Deep South sweet tea, some kind of chocolate, and some other gift. That first time it had been an iPod, shiny and new, but what was on it was the real gift: Music. The first song was "Cajun Love Song" by Leon Sullivan. It took her two hours to find out what else he'd put on it because she kept hitting replay. Two nights later she'd gotten chocolate covered peanuts and a daisy chain. It had made her laugh and she'd slept with it close enough to smell while accordions played away her own blues. Friday there had been chocolate covered cherries and a paper crane. They were small things but they made those nights easier, less lonely.

More, he hadn't asked. She couldn't get over that. Two weeks later and Remy still hadn't asked. And he had that chit and she'd have to answer if he wanted to cash it in, but he never did.

He did disappear some nights and, in turn, Rogue never asked about what he did in the hours after the sun had set and before it rose again. It was fairly obvious where he was and what he was doing, but if he'd been one to brag before, the Cajun was now keeping his conquests under wraps. Not that it meant the students weren't talking.

Sitting down to a late Sunday breakfast, Bobby at her side, Jubilee's voice carried down the table. "Saw him come in at four a.m. Pretty sure that was a lipstick stain on his shirt."

"I'd put a lipstick stain on his pants." Monet. That was definitely Monet.

"Why ruin a perfectly good pair of pants when you could put it somewhere it'd wash off?" Their laughter was abruptly cut short and Rogue looked up to see just who shut them up.

"Speak of the devil." Bobby's voice was pitched low so only Rogue could hear. Remy himself had appeared in a pair of low slung jeans, a rumpled tank, bare feet, and with beard shadowing his jaw. He bee-lined for the coffee as if he wanted to mainline what was in the pot, but settled for a mug, straight black, before ambling in their direction. Kitty just beat him and so they shared the bench across from Rogue and Bobby.

"Rough night, Gambit?" Bobby, unwisely, but in a very polite voice, asked the older man.

"Naw, rough mornin',  _ cher _ , night was great." He smiled lazily. There there were sighs, actual girlish sighs, from down the table at the morning after dissipation in his voice.

Kitty bumped his knee with hers and shook her head, apparently unaffected, but then they had noticed they had an easy camaraderie. "Four a.m.? How're you even awake? Or drinking that coffee. One of the teachers made that at, like, seven."

Rogue was the only quiet one, swirling her left over cereal in the milk at the bottom of the bowl. It wasn't like Remy didn't notice. He just grinned at Kitty before aiming those heavy lidded eyes at his never-this-silent Pop Chock. "You have a rough night, too,  _ petite _ ? Drink til you think your head gonna pound right off your neck?"

"No, Cajun, that's your bad habit, not mine."

"We could change that."

Jubilee snorted and leaned sideways so she could speak down the length of the table. "Rogue doesn't drink. Ever. Or party."

Gambit's gaze slid to the girl. She was a little younger than Rogue herself so he tempered his response. "Tough on her bein' smarter than the rest of us. I like a girl who keeps her head on straight an' don't get pressured into nothin' she don't wanna do."

The silence would have stretched if Kitty hadn't leaped into the moment while wary green eyes clashed with red-hot ones. "So, what's everyone's plans for today? I was thinking about the mall."

"Ah, Rogue and I have a date tonight, but the rest of the day is free. Wanna hit the mall?" Bobby tilted his head towards Rogue, his smile sweet and lighting up his whole boyish face.

Rogue’s own smile back was more contained. "Naw, ya'll go ahead. I wanna spend some extra time on combat. Can't seem to get my sweep kick jus' right."

"Gambit?" Kitty nudged him and he looked away from Rogue finally.

"Hm?"

"The mall? Or are you gonna crawl back into bed?"

"Naw, think mebbe Rogue's got the right idea.” He gave a stretch, lifting his arms up and arching his back as if to emphasize his next point. “Been lazy since I been back, could use some extra trainin', me."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "That's just sick. The both of you are sick.” Shaking her head at the two mashochists, she focused instead on Bobby. “Okay, Bobby, be ready in twenty minutes?"

"Sure. I'll justsee if John wants to go too." Sliding out of the table, his breakfast dishes in hand, his blue eyes went from Remy to Rogue. "Seven, right, Rogue?"

"Right, Bobby."

 

It wasn't until they were alone in the training room that Remy called her on it. "A date,  _ chere _ ?"

"Yep."

"Dat's all you gon' tell your best friend about it, hm?"

"My best friend, are you, now?"

"Sure I am. Who you spend the most time with? Who you tell all your secrets to?"

Rogue laughed outright which made him smile; even when she was laughing at him Remy couldn't help but smile at the sound. "I do not tell you all my secrets."

"Mebbe you should."

"Do you tell me yours? I'm pretty sure I've never heard you share any details about any date you ever been on, Gambit."

"That's because I ain't never been on one since I known you,  _ chere _ ."

They'd stretched while they talked and now she was up, moving into the middle of a mat to work in slow motion through the various forms she'd been taught by Wolverine. Remy joined her. "You were on a date last night."

"That don't count as a date,  _ petite _ ."

"Why not?"

Remy looked at her while she looked straight ahead; she was concentrating on her breathing as she pushed a fist out and moved her body with precision through punches and deflections. "Because I picked up a stranger in a bar, went into an alley, and fucked her. Didn't get her name or her number and hope to  _ le bon dieu _ I don't ever see her again."

Rogue's arms dropped; she twisted out of her pose to look at him straight on, eyes bright. "Why do you do it?"

"Now,  _ petite _ , I know someone's had to have given you the birds and the bees—"

"Don't. Don't you make fun of me 'cause I ain't had sex. Or even anything besides a kiss that put a boy in a coma." His look was stoic, he wasn't going to deny or confirm so she threw up a hand and poked him in the chest with her finger tips. "I know you know. I know they all talk about it. But why d'you do it, when you could have more than that? Someone to hold your hand or to sleep with at night? Why do you just find a random stranger and fuck her and pretend that's all you want."

He hated having her laying it out like that; he hated that as crude as she'd said it, it was only true. "What make you think I'm pretendin',  _ chere?" _

"Aren't you?"

Remy didn't answer her, not sure how this conversation, one he'd never wanted to have with her, had come about. "You want t'know, then you answer somethin' for me."

"Fine."

"What d'you do wid de Professor that leaves you lookin' hollow and hurt?"

Rogue sucked in a breath. He'd finally asked and she'd pushed him into it, pushed beyond their adversarial relationship for a real answer that was no real business of hers. A gloved hand ran over the black workout pants covering her hips.

"I—That's personal."

"So's my sex life."

"I get it,” she snapped. “You don't wanna tell me. You coulda just said."

Gambit snagged her arm as she turned away, twirling her back to him. He shouldn't have followed her here with the hangover and something else making him spoil for a fight, shouldn't have started a conversation about Bingo and her date, but it was done now and they couldn't exactly go back in time and erase it. "I do wanna tell you. Wanna tell you all about everythin',  _ chere _ . But it ain't one way. Friendship, it don't work like dat. You wanna ask de hard questions, you gonna have t'answer some of 'em too."

* * *

**She** had her date. They held hands. And she had her classes. The professor cancelled their Monday session which left Rogue to work through the exercises on her own, locked in her room. Jean had offered to help on more than one occasion, but Rogue had put the very brilliant doctor off as not wanting one more person in her head than she had already.

Remy wasn't avoiding her, but maybe she was avoiding him. There was definitely a change in their relationship and it was noted. She missed his hands, they'd always been finding an excuse to touch her, settling on her hips, smoothing her curls back, tugging the white-streaked tail when she pulled it up. His hands had been replaced with his gaze, from a distance, and while it was almost as frustrating as he was in general, it wasn't as satisfying; plus, she never had the opportunity to verbally spar with the quick-witted Cajun.

Logan was the only one who seemed happy with the turn of events, seen smiling on more than one occasion when the two had come into close proximity and Rogue's sudden need to flee was marked. Except, come the third day, his smile had turned right back into a scowl.

Gambit, he figured there just was no pleasin' some people.

"What the hell did you do, Crawdad?"

Remy looked up from the paper he was reading, the afternoon sun slanting warmly through the library windows. " _ Comment les affaires, _ Logan? We barely talked in weeks now. Missed your smilin' face,  _ mon ami." _

"You come on to her? Push her into somethin'?"

"Not that ol' song and dance, Logan, I thought you'd be more original den dat." The paper was given a shake, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as he went back to reading.

"You two ain't talkin'."

"Isn't that what you wanted, Wolverine? Seems you should be happy 'bout it." Red on black eyes lifted, moving over the rough featured face, the brawler's body strung taut with tension. "Trouble is she ain't any more happy is she,  _ ami _ ? An' you don' like t'see her like dis, no?"

Logan worked hard to hear mockery in the Cajun's voice, but couldn't. "She's my responsibility. I brought her here. Now you tell me what the hell you did to her."

"I don't owe you no explanation,  _ cher _ , you want one go talk to your  _ responsibility.  _ I'm readin', me, betterin' m'self."

Logan wanted to jam him through with a couple of steel blades that just happened to reside under his skin, but he didn't. He'd avoided talking to Rogue about the entire Cajun Problem and maybe it was time he confronted her. Going on dates with that Bobby kid, letting this one practically feel her up in public. Damn it, the wildcat was on a tear and he should've stepped in weeks ago.

"You better hope she doesn't tell me anything that'll make me want to hurt you, bub."

"You mean more than you a'ready do?"

LeBeau's indifference lingered, as irritating as a piece of food caught between his teeth. Logan wanted to get to shake it off but he wasn't even sure why the Cajun's low words and less than incendiary reactions were bothering him. So he sought out Rogue, waited for her to come out of some class Scott was teaching that, as a teacher himself , he probably ought to know the name of, or at least the topic. "Hey, kid."

"Hey, Logan." She smiled at him as if everything was fine. Sure, okay, she was always glad to see him.

"Wanna get lunch?" Quick and to the point. Knew the mansion was no place for the questions he wanted to ask.

"Uh, yeah. Barbecues in the kitchen? I made the slaw last night so it's pretty good and there's plenty of leftovers."

"Nope. Thought we'd go out. Sit down. Order."

If she thought it was weird that he'd stalked her after class and was taking her off the grounds, she wasn't saying. They'd had very little time alone together in the last month, since he'd returned from his uninformative jaunt to Alkali Lake. He'd told her that much, that he hadn't found what he was looking for, but beyond that and a lot of scowling since Remy'd come to town, they hadn't done more than exchange a handful of sentences between Danger Room sessions or while sparring. "Let me grab my jacket and put my books away."

"Meet you out front, kid."

Rogue pulled a leather bomber jacket on over her long-sleeved shirt. Didn't matter that it was summer, she had to keep covered up, and the leather was for the bike. Safety first. She also swapped out her ballet slippers for a pair of boots to protect her feet, things Logan had drilled into her about riding with him. It was too nice a day for the truck. Not wasting anymore time, she zipped up on the fly, stopping by the front closet where she kept an extra helmet and tried to grab it while extracting her hair from the neck of her jacket. A deep, southern voice and a pair of strong masculine hands intervened. "I got this,  _ petite _ , you jus' makin' a mess."

Her own hands fell to her sides, having had no success with hair or helmet, and fidgeted over the dark green jeans she was wearing while Gambit worked. Much more carefully than Rogue would have managed, he disengaged the heavy mass, gloved fingertips sweeping along the nape of her neck to make sure no strands were still held captive.

"Th-" She coughed, cleared the catch in her throat. "Thanks, sugar."

Behind her, Remy arched a brow. She'd never called him anything nicer than Gambit before and quite a lot besides that was pure venom. "Anytime,  _ petite _ ." Missing her, he couldn't quite step away and give the space she seemed to want. "Goin' out again?"

"Yeah," she turned, chewing on the left side of her lip, something he'd never seen her do. "Logan's takin' me t'lunch.""

His lips, always so mobile, went wry. "Order somethin' expensive, yeah?"

Her laughter was a thing he'd known he missed, but not quite how severely until the husky sound was  _ right there _ . "Sure thing." She reached in the closet for the helmet; he turned to go, hands dipping into pockets before her voice, whisper soft, arrested him."Gambit?"

When she didn't speak even after he'd turned back to her, the lanky Louisianan raised a single brow. "Rogue? Did you wan' somethin'?

"Naw, jus'" she pointed to her hair, then touched it, "you know, thanks for the…right. Bye."

_ That was just stellar. Really. Idiot. _ Shoving the discomfort away as well as feelings that might have edged toward guilt and regret, Rogue tried to be in the moment. She was out with Logan. They were having dinner. Wolverine was all hers for a couple of hours and she planned to enjoy it.

 

**_"You_ ** _ want to know what?" _ Her jaw had unhinged and fallen to the table. It was probably gonna roll right off it and she'd have to pick out lint and food debris when she brought it to Jean to reattach.

Logan licked his lips. "Did Remy try…Did you and that Cajun coonass try to…Did he pressure you to have sex? Is that why you aren't talking to him anymore?"

"Holy shit, Logan."

He was kind of expecting more than that as "Holy Shit" was hard to interpret as either a  _ yes, kick his ass, please _ , or  _ no, I just realized he's a dumb ass and don't want to talk to him anymore, but go ahead and kick his ass if you want _ –which were the only two responses he'd contemplated.

"Shit. Shit. Holy shit."

The additional shits actually made deciphering the meaning more difficult, but he was beginning to think he should break the thief's fingers on principle. Look at the conversation he was forcing them to have and how he'd apparently broken Rogue's ability to speak; one of Logan's favorite things about her was her tough mouth.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Not that it's any of your business, though I expect you'll try to kill him if I don't answer, but no. We ain't like that." Her eyes burned and she could feel her cheeks warming, the embarrassment made visible as embarrassing as the conversation itself. "I'd kill anyone that tried. Even if it was what I wanted, I'd kill 'em and so they'd have to be suicidal to even suggest it."

Wolverine knew this was not a conversation he should be having and yet, who else was there to do it? "Rogue, that isn't exactly true."

"Um, despite my dearth of experience, pretty sure sex involves touchin', Logan."

"Kid, there are ways…There are things you could do that…"

"Are you 'bout to tell me how to give a hand job with gloves on?"

Did he say he liked that mouth of hers? His own went dry and he grabbed his beer, downing it. "There's not just that, kid. Your partner could also wear protection, gloves,"  _ Jesus Christ _ , "and…" he gestured to her with a hand, didn't realize exactly  _ how  _ he was gesturing until her all ready pink face hit habanero hot. "I'm just sayin', Rogue, you're a beautiful, sensual,"  _ fuck, stop talking. _ "It wouldn't be crazy to think men want you…Gumbo and IceyHot are just the first three kids who might find you…you know."

"Sexy enough to risk death by drainin' to get their latex covered hands on my vagina?" He was so uncomfortable and so sort of adorable trying to give her the Rogue-ified version of the safe-sex talk. But it also tweaked her temper. Here she was almost 18 years old and it seemed the indignities brought on by her mutation were multiplying. "What's your take on fellatio with flavored condoms, since we're on the topic? Got a recommended flavor or brand?"

He deserved that. Voice hoarse, like he'd spent a year in the desert without water, the Wolverine backed off: "I get it. You're a smart, creative girl who can kick anyone's ass who gives her any attention she doesn't want. We're done here, baby."

**The** real horror of it was that the conversation was on repeat later that night when she met with the professor because she could not stop thinking about it while he was mucking around in there.She couldn’t stop him from seeing what had played out anymore than she could stop from draining people when she touched them.

While Rogue felt she'd acquitted herself admirably on the first go around, during the second and fifth and twentieth (with the audience of Professor Xavier) she was duly mortified by every third word that had come out of her mouth. And poor Wolverine! He'd been lookin' out for her, as usual, and she'd slapped him back and nearly made him swallow his tongue. She was a bitch. An ungrateful, horrible bitch.

Then there was the Professor—she couldn't even breathe thinking about that scene replaying in her head, her own internal Wolverine as embarrassed as the flesh and blood one had been, while Charles rooted around in there. He'd said nothing, but she knew, she  _ knew _ that he knew. Not a single one of the people in her brain could shut up about it.

Actually moaning to herself, she drug in her bedroom door and came to a dead stop. There on the bed was a giant Pepsi, chocolate covered pomegranates, and a half of a cheap heart necklace that, on closer inspection, read, "Be-" and underneath that, "Fri-".

That ungrateful part was more accurate than ever. He'd still taken care of her, even with her ignoring him, even with Logan no doubt trying to run him off every time he had the chance.

Friendship didn't work like that. It might have been awhile since she'd really been anyone's friend, but she knew that it wasn't supposed to be just one person making every effort, taking care, doing the work. Putting on the necklace, she gave herself a little time to prepare to do yet another thing she was dreading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary  
> Alohrs Pas—Of course not  
> Ami—friend  
> Arrete, toi—Stop, you  
> Assez—Enough  
> Belle—Pretty  
> Bon—Good  
> Bonhomie—geniality; pleasant disposition  
> Bonne fête—Happy Birthday  
> Catin—doll (in Cajun French); in France it has come to mean prostitute but Cajun French adheres to an older tradition  
> Ce n'est pas ma faute — It's not my fault.  
> C'est tout—That's all  
> Cher—masculine for dear  
> Chère—feminine for dear  
> Chien—dog  
> Comment les affaires?—How are things?  
> couillon—fool (not particularly harsh and can even be used affectionately)  
> désolé—Sorry (masculine)  
> En sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie.— In her beauty rests (both) my death and my life. Quote from Maurice Scève, French poet  
> envie—hunger or craving for something; said to a person it would mean sexual desire e.g. J'ai envie de toi. (I want you. Note: A way of saying it with warmth, not vulgarly.)  
> exactement—exactly  
> famille— family  
> Fils de putain—son of a bitch  
> Gaienne—Girlfriend  
> Homme—man  
> Je t'aime — I love you.  
> Je t'adore — I adore you.  
> jolie fille—pretty girl; doll  
> la petite morte— literally: the little death; figuratively it is a reference to orgasm  
> Le Bon Dieu!—The Good God  
> Le Diable Blanc—The White Devil, one of the names Remy has been known by as his eyes 'cause people to think him demonic  
> ma— my (feminine)  
> Mais—well or of course, for emphasis  
> make themisère(or, make the misery)—to cause trouble for  
> mon—my (masculine or preceding a word beginning with a vowel)  
> mon ami—my friend  
> mon amour—my love  
> mon chou— my cabbage (French term of endearment)  
> mon coeur—my heart  
> mon loup — my wolf (French term of endearment)  
> non—no  
> Ouah!— Yes. More casual that oui, rather more like "yeah"  
> oui—yes  
> père — father  
> petite—Little (little girl)  
> petite bouche—little mouth  
> Pop chock—small brown bird  
> Qui—in this case, who (I am not getting too in depth on French grammar as apparently qui and que are interchangeable depending on whether they are a direct or an indirect objects)  
> Salope!—Bitch  
> Savate—French Kick Boxing, one of the styles of fighting Remy is known for  
> 'tite chatte—little cat  
> Viens ici—Come here


	5. The Hard Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue's life has not been easy so this chapter contains a trigger warning for descriptions of violence and attempted rape. (Nothing is graphic or explicitly described.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and the kudos! Its always fun to get some feedback and to know you aren't just posting words into the void. Sorry I don't have a regular schedule for updates. I work. A lot. Also, I'm working on an Avatar: The Last Airbender story. It is not in any shape to start posting but is definitely Coming Soon. Happy reading!

**Just** after ten o’clock, Rogue's white-gloved fist knocked on Remy's door. The knock sounded timid to her, as if she hadn't fully committed to the action. Pulling in a breath and preparing to knock again, with some authority this time, she fisted her hand just as the door came open. Remy was on the other side, looking annoyed, half-dressed, and on the verge of telling her to fuck off, but he never did. His free hand, the one not braced on the door, pushed through his dark hair as a frown tugged over his red on black eyes. "Rogue?"

It was difficult to sort out where to look. Rogue had been avoiding his gaze for days, but he wasn't wearing a shirt, only a pair of cotton pants slung low on his hips. So low, in fact, that she could see the wings of a V disappearing into the top of them. She nearly went cross-eyed staring at his nose. "Can I come in?"

Remy darted looks down the hallway in either direction out of sheer habit before stepping aside and gesturing her in. If she'd had on shoes he would've thought this was a goodbye before she bolted; the girl was zipped into a grey hoodie and wearing dark yoga pants while toting a heavy-looking canvas satchel, but on her feet there were only socks with tiny alligators on them. "Let me close de windows, petite, and get the air condition' goin'." He'd covered the vents, preferring the balmy air and the rich smell of the night, fresh cut grass and the promise of rain.

"No, leave it." She fidgeted with the army green strap over her shoulder, only taking enough steps inside the room for him to shut the door behind them.

"You plannin' on getting' heatstroke? 'Cause you stay bundled up like that without the air…" his fingers splayed. They, at least, were covered as she had expected with his signature half-ass gloves. He must've been smoking too, the smell lingered in the room and an ashtray sat by the open window. So did a deck of cards. She knew just how fast his hands were from watching him shuffle, deal, and charge decks like that at poker games she didn't join or in the Danger Room. "Unless you ain't stayin'?"

"I'm stayin'. If you'll let me. I keep my windows open too. Never really liked air conditioning."

"Then take off your jacket." When she slanted him a look identical to the one she'd given him that first night when he'd tried to shake her hand, Remy's smile curled slowly over his mouth. "I put on a shirt, long-sleeves, okay?" She stared for another beat, eventually nodding and placing her satchel on the edge of the bed so she cold unzip the cotton hoodie. Remy found himself watching the metal claws unclasp, practically riveted, and had to tear himself away to snag a worn, long-sleeved tee shirt from a drawer. 

Once it was on, he sat on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. "What can I do for you tonight?" With the timid knock he'd been expecting another one of the students hoping he'd initiate them, so to speak. Never occurred to him Rogue was on the other side, acting mysterious.

"I'm sorry."

Remy went still, his restless fingers caught in the act of scraping back his too long hair. "What're you sorry for,  _ chere? _ Showin' up?"

"No. For avoidin' you." She pulled at the bottom of the black tank, looking like a curvy cat burglar now. Except for the socks. She wiggled her toes and the alligators danced.

"Come on,  _ petite _ , sit down. It's alright."

"It ain't and I want to tell you, answer your question. You been taking care of me for weeks and besides it'll matter to you personally sooner or later," with that cryptic answer she climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged and edging the satchel in front of her.

"Remember when I explained, 'bout my mutation?" Remy nodded, taking up the opposite side of the bed and stretching out. An arm was tucked behind his head and his back leaned into the heavy wooden headboard. "I said I take everythin' and I left it at that. Well, I do, I meant it, I wasn't exaggerating. When I touch a human, I take their life force, with a mutant—"

"Their power, I know, _ chere _ ."

"And with either one I take their memories, their personality, essence, soul—whatever you wanna call it. The powers, they fade, the psyches? Well, now, they stick around." He didn't understand, not yet. "When I go have my sessions with the professor, he spends a lot of time talkin' to my other personalities." 

He could see she was serious, but he wasn't touching that with a nine-foot pole. The laugh, her laugh, sounded startled and strangled. "I know I sound bat shit crazy, but, then, I am."

He didn't like the edge of hysteria in that laugh of hers. "We gonna start tellin' each other how we crazy—and,  _ petite _ , you ain't the only one with a story—then I think it’s 'bout time you call me Remy. S'what best friends do."

She touched a fingertip to the cheap gold medallion resting on her chest. No doubt it had cost twenty-five cents and had come in a plastic bubble from a machine at a gas station. Didn't matter. "Anna Marie. D'Ancanto. My name, most people call me,  _ called  _ me, Marie."

Once again, he found himself stretching a hand toward the girl with the white-streaked hair and the deep shadow of the swamp eyes. "We ain't most people, Anna Marie. I'm Remy Etienne LeBeau, at your service, day or night." That sinner's smile flashed. "Especially at night."

This time, she took his hand, their gloves keeping them both safe. Even through the material she could feel his heat, but the hold was brief before he sat back again. She tucked her hand into her lap. "Most of the others, they don't know, exactly, how it works. After Ellis Island—do you know 'bout that?"

His hand gestured, a curling motion indicating the white streak in her hair. "I heard."

"Wolverine was in a coma for days and me? I was cravin' cigars, beer, and a hockey game." Remy laughed, as she'd intended. "It faded and he woke up and everyone figured that was the end of it. Everyone 'cept those who really knew what my mutation does. Logan's still up there and so is everyone else."

"Everyone you ever touch is up there?" He tapped his own head with his fingers.

"Everyone I've touched since the mutation manifested. Logan, Magneto, Colossus—he's good about sharin', in the Danger Room." There was a pause, then "Others" and another pause, brief as a blink. "Piotr, Colossus, you know?" She seemed to veer sharply away from that last category: Others. Remy noticed and he noticed the quick flutter of her caged bird heart. "With him I know how much he misses his sister and the scent of the Russian countryside and a couple of swear words that he gets real upset if I use." There was a laugh in her voice and Remy responded to it instantly, his mouth moving to mirror hers though the darkness creeping at her edges was like a siren wail to him.

Rogue focused on the satchel then, dumping its contents between them. A curious jumble of books spilled out, no two the same. There were some with glitter, one with the Ole Miss Rebel on it—at least two dozen scattered on his bed. "These are theirs. Everyone gets a journal. Almost everyone. "

She snagged a book, the football one that seemed like it was about used up and even had papers spilling out. "The first boy I kissed. I wasn't the first girl he kissed, that was Julie Benton two weeks before he asked me out. His mama likes to watch telenovelas even though she don't understand a lick of Spanish." She picked books up, naming the personality they belonged to then moved on to the next. "My momma's. Daddy's. Logan's." She paused with his, almost cradling it. "He'd've never told me half the things I know if I hadn't stolen 'em." She sat his aside carefully, then the largest of the books was hefted. "Magneto. He had me take an awful lot from him. An awful lot."

Green eyes skittered from the book, over the darker green of his walls. "All week I've been cravin' green tea ice cream. You ever had it?"

"Sure, not my favorite." She seemed hectic, recklessly bouncing between fragments of her story, but he went along, voice as sluggish as the swamp and cool as a breeze through the Cyprus trees.

"I couldn't think of anythin' better all week long. So when Bobby and I went out we stopped and got some." The look on her face wasn't right, her lips twisted in an almost reminiscent smile. "I almost threw it up, that's how much I hated the taste of it. Turns out, I hate green tea ice cream. Don't even like regular ol' green tea. Could be the thought from someone I brushed in a crowd or it could be one of the other students, from the training room. The list of possibilities is pretty long. Bobby had t'remind me that my favorite is pralines and cream. After he'd bought me another cone and I about refused to even try it."

"Oh,  _ petite." _ He didn't say more; the shake of her head and the hummingbird rapidity with which she was telling her story, the erratic stops and starts, warned him off of interruptions.

"Sometimes I get the smell of burning flesh stuck in my nose and in my throat and I gag. Can't eat for days." Tears welled in her luminous eyes as she looked at him. "I want to hate Magneto for what he did to me, but we starved together in an internment camp when we couldn't do what they asked us to do, have to touch my ribs to feel that I'm not still starving." She did so now and cracked his heart. "Lost everyone we ever loved because, what, we were born Jewish?

“ And here I am, different again, mutant, hated for nothin' I chose or can change or should have to. So why not just let them burn? Why not let them suffocate and starve and live in filth and cry themselves to sleep, huh?" She slammed the book shut suddenly, but didn't throw it, set it away as carefully as she had done Logan's. Her eyes weren't quite her own when she looked up at Gambit again. "I hate them, the humans. And I want to watch them as they watch someone they love burn."

He hadn't realized this was where that depth of pain came from. He knew better than to let her see what it did to him, though. "You don't hate anyone, Rogue."

But she did. It was there, just like her ability to change the oil in any car in the garage of the mansion without ever having read a book, taken a class, been taught. "It ain't just that or him. I am a monster because I have monsters inside me.

"When I was hitchhikin' there was a man, there were a few, but this one, he liked his girls a little younger, but I was there. I kept telling him to stop but I was pinned in the truck—I'd gotten in, was my own fault. By the time he got his hands under my shirt I'd stopped telling him not to touch me. He didn't make it any further than that with my body or his own road trip."

"Anna Marie." She couldn't hear the raw sound in his voice, too many other voices clambering for attention. She couldn't stop until he could really see what a monster she was, what terrible secrets she kept locked up inside her mind.

"I hope he never woke up. He deserved it, sadistic bastard. Magneto and Logan usually keep him in check; they don't have no use for him." Different personalities paired up, kept others down. It could easily go the other way. They could pair up, take her down.

"And, it hurts—anyone bother to tell you that? Hurts when I take. For me, it's like I'm drownin', but for them," she shook her head, those damp curls spilling forward and obscuring her face as she tucked her chin, fingers skimming from book to book in front of her, "for them it's like havin' every single droplet of blood ripped from your veins and through your skin. Worst pain most of 'em have ever felt. " The words so hushed now that Remy almost missed them. "So, that's my secret."

* * *

_ So, that's my secret. _

"I've got…a lot people livin' inside and they ain't all kind; what they know, what they feel I know and I feel too. And sometimes they get tired of just squattin' and want to take a turn at the wheel." She held one of the journals in her hands, turning it over and over, fluttering the pages but not really opening it.

"C'mere,  _ catin." _ Her gaze shot up and she shook her head. Remy's smile was wry. "I ain't gonna touch, not like that." He shoved the books aside carefully and stretched his hand out for her. "Jus' c'mere."

She weighed her options—take his hand or don't—for a long time, but he was patient and he waited and eventually she placed her fingertips in his. He helped her scramble over the bed then tucked her into his side.

"You will touch me, eventually, or I will you. Bound to happen on accident, on a mission, in training—Then you won't have any choices about what you tell me. About what I know. I shouldn't have pushed about your—" her hand fluttered in the air and he caught it, cutting her off as she stared at their linked fingers.

"Hush, now. I ain't worried about what will or won't happen 'cause I ain't scared of your touch,  _ petite _ ." He pressed her hand to his chest, held it against the easy, steady beat of his heart. "The journals, they help at all?"

She leaned away from him just enough to pick up the journal she'd been turning in her hands a moment before. She offered it to him, had to help him get it open as he wasn't giving up the hold he had on her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. Even jerked her chin at it, "Go on."

 

_ This book belongs to Anna Marie D'Ancanto. _

_ I was born in Meridian Mississippi. _

_ I was 16 when my mutation manifested. _

_ I am a leach and I take life and powers and psyches. _

_ If you are in my body, I'd like it back. I never meant to hurt you. Probably. Unless maybe you deserved it. I certainly didn't mean to trap any part of you in myself. _

 

Remy stopped reading, set the book on his dresser, and touched her chin with his covered knuckles. "I won't let you forget who you are."

"Remy, eventually I'm gonna take too much, absorb someone stronger than me, or have so much in there one of 'em inside is gonna see their chance and take it."

"It's hard and it's devastatin' and I'm so damn sorry you have to go through that. But you are mebbe the strongest and bravest and best person I ever know." Cupping her cheek, burying his exposed fingers in her thick curls, he kept their gazes locked. "You ever need a bouncer up there, you just let me know."

Rogue buried her laugh in his shoulder, arms wrapping around his waist finally. "That's what's happenin' next."

"What?  _ Chere, _ I cain't here you if you gonna talk to m'shoulder."

She pulled away enough to look into his face again, so close their breath mingled. Dangerously close. "The Professor. He's tried teaching me to make walls. Put some up himself and had me reinforcin' 'em. Tried reasonin' with the other folks jawin' up there, but so far no luck. He thinks I should maybe take from him, that if he were in my head he could show me how or, or do it himself, the walls to keep the worst of them from, from taking over."

"How you feel about dat?" He rubbed circles on the small of her back and drifted fingers through her hair, not moving away from her though there was a great deal of honey warm skin close to his own. Not moving closer, even though there was a great deal of honey warm skin close to his own.

"Not real sure, sugar. I mean, Professor X takin' up residence in your head sound like a lot of fun?"

Remy snorted at the dry tone and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Me an' de Professor don' see eye to eye on a number of the mos' fun things."

"Exactly. And I get to have precious little of that kind of fun as it is."

Precious little? Did that mean that she'd had some of that kind of fun? Some of that kind of fun with Bobby on their date? His eyes narrowed at her and she sniffled. "What?"

"Did Bobby try anythin' with you?"

Her sudden, belly deep, bawdy laugh took him by complete surprise. She actually braced herself on his shoulders and shook them both she was laughing so hard. Remy found himself laughing with her. "You gon' let me in on the joke, Anna Marie?"

"You'll hate it." She giggled. His viper tongued steel magnolia actually giggled as she tried to swallow her hilarity.

"Fess up, petite. I got you here an' I ain't lettin' you go until you tell me what got you so tickled."

"That's—" she hiccupped a laugh, "that's  _ exactly _ what Wolverine wanted to know about you!" Rogue busted up again.

Remy was suddenly far less amused. "Wolverine talk to you 'bout me and you…"

"Sure, sugar, you tryin' to have sex with me. I think he was even thinkin' about givin' me a detailed explanation on Rogue-safe sex complete with latex."

Remy was sure she thought that was funny by the way she was grinning at him, all sass and bright eyes from her recent tears. "Was he now?"

"Mmhmm. I asked what his thoughts were on flavored condoms but—"

"Favorable."

"What?" Rogue wiped a different kind of tear from her eye, grin suspended and head tipped as she hadn't quite caught on.

"My thoughts on flavored condoms, flavored oils—they're favorable. Don't wanna know de Wolverine's though." Remy kept a close eye on her as she swallowed thickly and the fingers on his shoulder flexed.

"I, ah, wasn't really askin'," weakly.

"Jus' in case you ever need t'know,  _ petite." _ There was something in his low voice, in the near-glow of his gaze- she wondered if this was at all how he was when actually trying to seduce someone. Rogue could certainly see how it would work.

"Like I told Logan, only a man with a death wish would try to anything with me."

" _ Chere _ , I don't _ try _ nothin', I  _ do _ and I aim to be the best at everythin' I choose t'do."

What could she say to that? When her mouth was dry and he was holding her close even after everything she'd confessed ? Of course, that was just a heartbeat of thought, didn't even count. She did find her voice and, as usual when she felt unsure, it was acerbic. "No doubt you think you are."

And that perhaps serious look melted away, his grin charming and wicked and slick. "Oh,  _ petite _ , you wanna find out for your own self? I wouldn't want you to take my word on nothin'."

Rogue hoped he didn't notice the way her breath jittered before she managed a laugh and a quick smack to his shoulder. "Okay, Cajun, that's enough of that. I'm sufficiently distracted from tellin' you the sordid crazy that's my brain."

"Anna Marie, you ain't crazy." Her eyes were wide and close, little chips of amber visible in the green. “You complicated." His smile came with the sunburst of her laughter. Smoothing those thick curls back, holding onto a white strand and twirling it over his fingers, he watched the play of that laugh on her face. "I mean that, though. You holdin' it together and any time you need anything-you come to Remy, yeah?" He'd hold her together for a while, if she needed.

"It don't bother you none? That I…that I can't tell you if the first time I rode a bike was in the park or at the beach because I remember both like they were me? Or that tomorrow I could come out swingin' or end up hittin' on a pretty brunette with a curvy waist 'cause Logan has a thing for 'em?"

"Any time, and,  _ chere, _ I do mean  _ anytime _ , you get the urge to hit on a curvy brunette, you jus' call me up and I be the best kind'a friend you ain't never had before." Her small fist packed quite a punch, even mostly playfully. He rubbed his arm with a pout before sobering.

" _ Petite _ , jus' 'cause they in your head, don't make 'em you. Jus' 'cause Magneto hates damn near everyone and some...you got some bad people up there, you ain't bad people. You ever forget who you are, I'm'a remind you. Might mebbe take some liberties with how you feel about this Acadian Adonis, but…"

Could it be that easy? She told him the worst of it and he held her in his strong arms and made a vow to help her? Made her laugh and somehow took a little of the weight she'd been hauling alone since she was 16. No wonder people were always tellin' her to make friends."Remy?"

"Yeah,  _ petite _ ?"

"Maybe, I can just stay here for awhile, if you don't mind."

Remy tipped his head into hers, breathing in the damp scent of her hair, holding her small frame hard against his. "I don' mind a'tall,  _ chere _ . 'fact is, I think you belong right here."

She pressed her cheek against his chest, all but nuzzling into him. "Bet you say that to all the girls."

He did. But this was the first time he'd meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary  
> Alohrs Pas—Of course not  
> Ami—friend  
> Arrete, toi—Stop, you  
> Assez—Enough  
> Belle—Pretty  
> Bon—Good  
> Bonhomie—geniality; pleasant disposition  
> Bonne fête—Happy Birthday  
> Catin—doll (in Cajun French); in France it has come to mean prostitute but Cajun French adheres to an older tradition  
> Ce n'est pas ma faute — It's not my fault.  
> C'est tout—That's all  
> Cher—masculine for dear  
> Chère—feminine for dear  
> Chien—dog  
> Comment les affaires?—How are things?  
> couillon—fool (not particularly harsh and can even be used affectionately)  
> désolé—Sorry (masculine)  
> En sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie.— In her beauty rests (both) my death and my life. Quote from Maurice Scève, French poet  
> envie—hunger or craving for something; said to a person it would mean sexual desire e.g. J'ai envie de toi. (I want you. Note: A way of saying it with warmth, not vulgarly.)  
> exactement—exactly  
> famille— family  
> Fils de putain—son of a bitch  
> Gaienne—Girlfriend  
> Homme—man  
> Je t'aime — I love you.  
> Je t'adore — I adore you.  
> jolie fille—pretty girl; doll  
> la petite morte— literally: the little death; figuratively it is a reference to orgasm  
> Le Bon Dieu!—The Good God  
> Le Diable Blanc—The White Devil, one of the names Remy has been known by as his eyes 'cause people to think him demonic  
> ma— my (feminine)  
> Mais—well or of course, for emphasis  
> make themisère(or, make the misery)—to cause trouble for  
> mon—my (masculine or preceding a word beginning with a vowel)  
> mon ami—my friend  
> mon amour—my love  
> mon chou— my cabbage (French term of endearment)  
> mon coeur—my heart  
> mon loup — my wolf (French term of endearment)  
> non—no  
> Ouah!— Yes. More casual that oui, rather more like "yeah"  
> oui—yes  
> père — father  
> petite—Little (little girl)  
> petite bouche—little mouth  
> Pop chock—small brown bird  
> Qui—in this case, who (I am not getting too in depth on French grammar as apparently qui and que are interchangeable depending on whether they are a direct or an indirect objects)  
> Salope!—Bitch  
> Savate—French Kick Boxing, one of the styles of fighting Remy is known for  
> 'tite chatte—little cat  
> Viens ici—Come here


	6. Later, Gator

**It** should have been weird. She was expecting weird. She was expecting that, as great as Remy had been, come the clear light of day he'd hesitate over her confession and what it would mean for him eventually, inevitably. But Remy LeBeau, Gambit, Prince of Thieves,whatever name he was going by was more than what he seemed to most. In fact, the morning after, as Rogue sat with her knee just pressing against Bobby's, a tenuous touch for a tenuous relationship, Remy had swaggered in, nudged his way between them, and looped his arm familiarly over her shoulder before snagging bites of breakfast from her plate.

"Get your own, Cajun."

"Why, _petite_ , when yours tastes better?"

And later, when he'd returned her personal journal, having been left behind on his nightstand, he handed it over, pulled a lock of her hair. "Forgot this, _chere_. Now, you gonna try t'beat me in de Danger Room? 'Cause I'm thinkin' we should bet on it."

A day passed and then another and still nothing was different. Or, at least, not bad different or awkward different.

* * *

 

 **Of course,** everything was different. Now, he knew what she was going through, why she was skittish of her skin. It wasn't right, someone as passionate as Anna Marie, wrapped up in fabric and untouchable for the rest of her life. He wouldn't believe, couldn't believe there wasn't something could be done. Just wasn't sure what that something was yet.

"Just go talk to her." Kitty flopped down beside him on the couch.

Distracted black-jack eyes swung from the window to the brunette beside him."Hm?"

Kitty gestured between him and the window as she spoke. "You've been staring at Rogue for ten minutes at least. It's getting creepy. So, just go talk to her."

A slow curl of his lips read as wry amusement before thief's fingers tugged a lock of brown hair. "I ain't not talkin' to her, _'tite chatte_."

"Spying on her, then? Her and Bobby?" Kitty arched a brow. She had sardonic down pat.

"Nah, jus' enjoyin' the view even if Princess Elsa does get in de way."

Kitty's laugh was quick.. "Make sure I'm there when you say that to his face." Then, followed Remy's gaze to the window which framed Rogue and Bobby sitting in the grass, apparently drinking in the sunshine and talking between bouts of tentative flirtatious touching via tickling or slaps, the former being initiated by Bobby and the latter by Rogue.

"But, really, Gambit, it's creeptastic that you are watching them like a television show."

His rich, low laugh warmed Kitty right down to her toes. "Alright, alright. What you want, _petite_? For me to go interrupt? I think mebbe Rogue's startin' to get annoyed with that."

"Just startin', bub?" Wolverine's voice rumbled, causing the pair on the couch to look over their shoulders. "Stalking's a crime in the state of New York."

"Yeah, you been picked up for it a few times, _homme_?"

Kitty whipped her head around to hide the smile she was failing to squash.

"Chuck wants t'see you, Gumbo." Wolverine ignored the jibe, crossing arms across his broad chest.

"Ah, thanks for deliverin' the message. Fresh out'a treats, though, want me t'scratch behind your ears?" Wolverine's answering growl had Remy's teeth flashing. Kitty's ducked-head and snorting fake cough encouraged a low chuckle and a hair ruffle from the Cajun. " _Non?_ Well, don' say I never offered."

He was still grinning as he reached the Professor's office and knocked at the jamb of the wide open door. It still surprised Remy some, the professor's easy smiles and faith, both evident on his face as he looked up from whatever he was working on.

"Gambit, thank you for coming."

"Sure thing, Professor. Want I should close the door?"

"Ah, no Storm is actually," the smile appeared again and Remy looked behind him to see what the Professor's eyes were tracking. He found the white-haired weather witch stepping in behind the thief and closing the door as the Professor finished, "sitting in with us. And, please do have a seat."

Xavier wheeled around his desk, positioning himself at a table with a teapot and three cups set out. He poured them each their preference without needing to ask. Once the tea was tasted, Charles began. "I'm afraid, Gambit, that your brief interlude with us is at an end."

" _Oui?"_

"Beginning tomorrow we'll have need of you in Ireland. Storm will accompany you long enough to retrieve the daughter of a friend; the young lady will be attending the school for a time. While Storm returns her here, you'll be heading to an estate in County Mayo to assist another close friend, Dr. Moira MacTaggert. She is in need of an extra guard and a savvy escort."

Remy'd sipped his tea while the professor explained, couldn't help but notice this wasn't his usual kind of assignment. "An escort?" Setting his cup aside, the lanky mutant leaned forward, forearms to his thighs. "Escort where?"

Storm answered, "From Ireland to a secure location in Scotland. But, you'll be in Ireland as a guard until she's prepared to move on."

"Dr. MacTaggert," Charles picked up, "is a geneticist with a particularly keen interest in mutant genetics. She's used a family estate as a base of operations for quite some time but feels it is now necessary to move to a more secure location; she has worked towards that end for several years and is very nearly ready to transfer the last of her research materials to Muir Island."

"I don' mind the work, Professor, but you sure I'm de man for the job?"

"I am hoping, Remy, that this will be a relaxing assignment. It is one that may call upon your varied skills—Dr. MacTaggert would very much like a consultation on her security at Muir Island—" the Professor's smile was both appreciative and amused, Remy took both as a compliment, "but it is not one that should require more than a few months of your time and it does not require that you masquerade as anyone."

They needed a thief to stop potential thieves. Until the doctor's work was moved, it was vulnerable; while it was, it made an enticing target for certain parties. He was no geneticist, but it wasn't lost on Gambit the kind of records and information she must have on the mutant community.

"Furthermore, you will be able and encouraged to stay in contact with the school."

A long silence stretched after that first-ever caveat. Usually, he was deep undercover and was only to contact Storm or the Professor when necessary. Which meant: "With Rogue, you mean?"

Storm knew, though his voice was light, that there was a wall being slammed up behind the words. Her slim, elegant hand settled on his forearm. "Whatever you are thinking, Remy, stop." Only when red on black eyes had settled on her own did Ororo continue. "Rogue has very few confidantes. We think it would be detrimental for her if one of the few she has chosen to trust should simply disappear, and unnecessarily so as this particular assignment does not hold the same risks as your usual ones. And we don't want you to continue to be isolated. Charles only means that this is an opportunity not to stay such for either of you."

Storm could practically see the Cajun's suspicion, as if there were motives beyond safeguarding his and Rogue's mental health and the friendship he had cultivated that contributed to it. "A'right, den. When we leavin', Ro?"

"Tomorrow," she glanced at the Professor, asking rather than stating.

Xavier nodded. "Yes, tomorrow morning will be soon enough. There is no particular threat to either the student or Dr. MacTaggert. Storm will fill you in on further details once you are underway. Thank you, as always, Gambit."

Dismissed, Remy left to find Rogue.

She was, of course, with Bobby. Although they appeared to be doing homework. And holding hands. His gaze narrowed on the Polo poster boy's bare fingers laced with her gloved ones before smoothing out his expression. "Rogue, near time for our workout. Think we could start early, _petite_?"

Rogue glanced up at the sound of his voice clearing even before he'd spoken. She recognized it. Expected a joke and nudging Bobby away just to tweak Bobby's patience; Remy seemed to want to see the All-American snap. When neither came she suspected a more serious agenda. When she'd come to be capable of parsing Gambit's sentences so easily, she didn't know, but she was sure the Cajun wanted to talk and was equally unwilling to say he wanted to talk. "Sure thing, Gambit. Fifteen minutes? We just got one more question and I gotta change."

" _Mais yeah, petite_." 'Course, whatever he wanted to talk about, however serious or not, he walked away whistling Frosty the Snowman.

However, when she reached her room and stepped inside, Remy was in her window. Well, leaning against it, legs crossed at the ankles, hands braced on the sill. "Breaking and entering?" She sounded far calmer than she should have considering the way the figure, not immediately recognized as more than intruder, had sent adrenaline pumping through her.

"Ah, jus' enterin'. Don' really wanna work out tonight, _petite_."

"Then…"

"Wanted t'talk, yeah? We don' have to stay in your room none. I tried not to look 'round too much."

But the way he said that, overtly innocent, had Rogue's gaze narrowing and skimming her room. "What did you look at?"

Gambit's smile was only mildly distracting. "Okay, _Pop Chock_ , if you insist on stayin' here…" he strolled to her bed and sprawled out on the striped comforter.

He shouldn't have looked good there, but he did. So Rogue swatted his hip. "Scoot over, _Gumbo_ ," not said without cracking a smile as he sat up and sat back against her headboard, just giving her enough room to edge onto the side, hip to his thigh. "Out with it. Last time you wanted to talk it was to swear you weren't spreadin' rumours about our sex life."

She could have sworn he purred. "Mm. I do like the sound of that, _chere_ . Our—" a gloved hand stopped his words but didn't quite contain the laugh against the leather covered palm. Peeling her hand away but not letting it go, Remy passed his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm leavin' in the mornin', _petite_. Got my new mission."

"Oh."

He searched her face after the single syllable reply. "Now, I know you gonna miss me," said as he watched a smile tug at the edge of her lips, eking out a grudging existence on her too often too serious face, "but I been assured I can keep in touch this go 'round. I was thinkin' we could talk on the computer so you could see my handsome face, _oui?"_

"How long you gonna be gone for?"

"Don't know. Never do. But, they thinkin' it won't be too long and then _I'm_ thinkin' I'm due a real vacation. Maybe take you somewhere sunny where you have to lose a couple layers after you graduate."

Rogue snorted and checked him with her hip. "Death wish. When you gonna get over that, Cajun?"

"When you gonna figure out seein' your skin ain't lethal?"

"Seein' is just a step away from touchin', sugar, and you got a serious problem with 'look, don't touch'."

Rogue's sassiness did not earn her the expected reply from Gambit, no quick smile or innuendo. Instead, he carefully tangled their fingers together. "I meant it, you know."

"Meant what?" He looked up, then reached out and traced the small heart hidden beneath her shirt. How he knew it was on the long chain she kept tucked in her clothes, Rogue had no idea. "Me too, Remy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary  
> Alohrs Pas—Of course not  
> Ami—friend  
> Arrete, toi—Stop, you  
> Assez—Enough  
> Belle—Pretty  
> Bon—Good  
> Bonhomie—geniality; pleasant disposition  
> Bonne fête—Happy Birthday  
> Catin—doll (in Cajun French); in France it has come to mean prostitute but Cajun French adheres to an older tradition  
> Ce n'est pas ma faute — It's not my fault.  
> C'est tout—That's all  
> Cher—masculine for dear  
> Chère—feminine for dear  
> Chien—dog  
> Comment les affaires?—How are things?  
> couillon—fool (not particularly harsh and can even be used affectionately)  
> désolé—Sorry (masculine)  
> En sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie.— In her beauty rests (both) my death and my life. Quote from Maurice Scève, French poet  
> envie—hunger or craving for something; said to a person it would mean sexual desire e.g. J'ai envie de toi. (I want you. Note: A way of saying it with warmth, not vulgarly.)  
> exactement—exactly  
> famille— family  
> Fils de putain—son of a bitch  
> Gaienne—Girlfriend  
> Homme—man  
> Je t'aime — I love you.  
> Je t'adore — I adore you.  
> jolie fille—pretty girl; doll  
> la petite morte— literally: the little death; figuratively it is a reference to orgasm  
> Le Bon Dieu!—The Good God  
> Le Diable Blanc—The White Devil, one of the names Remy has been known by as his eyes 'cause people to think him demonic  
> ma— my (feminine)  
> Mais—well or of course, for emphasis  
> make themisère(or, make the misery)—to cause trouble for  
> mon—my (masculine or preceding a word beginning with a vowel)  
> mon ami—my friend  
> mon amour—my love  
> mon chou— my cabbage (French term of endearment)  
> mon coeur—my heart  
> mon loup — my wolf (French term of endearment)  
> non—no  
> Ouah!— Yes. More casual that oui, rather more like "yeah"  
> oui—yes  
> père — father  
> petite—Little (little girl)  
> petite bouche—little mouth  
> Pop chock—small brown bird  
> Qui—in this case, who (I am not getting too in depth on French grammar as apparently qui and que are interchangeable depending on whether they are a direct or an indirect objects)  
> Salope!—Bitch  
> Savate—French Kick Boxing, one of the styles of fighting Remy is known for  
> 'tite chatte—little cat  
> Viens ici—Come here


	7. The X-Gene

**Chapter 7:** The X-Gene

"The X-gene isn't new," the rich, round feminine tones had hints of Scotland, not Ireland, a brogue that expanded along with the hand gestures as the speaker grew more passionate. "Examining historical texts should lead anyone to the conclusion that it has been switching on for centuries. Do we really believe anyone mistook a manatee for a mermaid? Some sea monster, surely, but a mermaid? 

“And what of sirens? And the gods themselves? Was Aphrodite the Goddess of Love or a woman with a mutation that affected sexuality or pheromones? Zeus's lightning is no stretch of the imagination, not when one knows Storm. That aside, however," a hand waved, brushing the tangent away, "the real questions concern why it has become so prevalent to have a switched on X-gene and what other factors account for such wide variations in mutations. 

“What combinations of dominant and recessive genes create wings over a healing factor? Does the body chemistry of the mother affect how a mutation manifests or if the X-gene is turned on at all? By studying mutants and their offspring over generations we'll have a far better understanding of mutant genetics. And, in understanding that, we might be able to turn off a mutation altogether through gene therapy or even switch off only portions of a given mutation."

"Turn it off, like a cure?"

"I don't think of it like that." Doctor Moira MacTaggert shook her head, quick and vehement negation of the idea of a cure. "Mutation isn't disease. Although, yes, for some, it would no doubt seem like a cure. For those that can't gain control of their mutation, for instance."

"An' who decides who gets de treatment? A parent when they find out their kid got the X-gene? The government?"

"Gambit," she took a deep breath, her slim body practically vibrating with it. She was a small package, Gambit thought, for such massive passion and intellect to be housed in. "It's complicated. I know the implications of my work can be…concerning and will perhaps create difficult ethical situations we'll have to learn to navigate humanely, but there's a great deal to be gained-even from the less savory applications such as apprehension and containment of mutant criminals."

"Why not let other mutants handle that?"

"Because they aren't a mutant problem. They're a human one. All mutants are human and all criminals, mutant or not, are a problem for all of society to deal with." Slender hands, devoid of jewelry, came together. Elegant fingers formed a steeple as if providing a focal point for her next statements. "Ideally mutants would be openly integrated in society; if their mutations aided them in their work so much the better. However, even then, containing a Class Five mutant—Well, consider: How would you stop, let alone contain over a long period, a Class Five mutant bent on destruction? Is there, at present, an option besides euthanizing the mutant in question? And, let us keep in mind, that option may only be exercised if one is able to take out such a power." 

She barely gave him time to consider the question before elaborating. "Furthermore, what if that mutant is a child, or even an adult, not so much bent on destruction but rather incapable of containing his abilities? What if we could find a temporary restraint that would allow an individual to slowly learn to control her abilities, in increments, without endangering others, with the ultimate goal of weaning her off any restraint at all? And, then, of course—" She stopped mid-sentence, her smile suddenly apologetic. "I'm sorry—you literally just walked in the door and I've found my way onto my soapbox."

" _ Non, chere. _ It's interestin'. An' I got the feeling if you were in charge dat's how you'd run things. But, Doc,” Remy turned a hand with elegant casualness as if underlining his words, “you ain't the government in the United States or Russia or Bolivia. You ain't the U.N. Council on Mutant Affairs. You ain't the popular opinion held by the rest of the humans out there.”

Moira sighed, rumpling blonde curls and wearing a disgruntled expression. "I know. Which is why were moving all of my research to Muir Island and, frankly, why Charles recommended you for this undertaking.

"Oh, yeah? He tell you 'bout my mutation?"

Moira's laugh was clear, like the breeze-whipped bell of a well-made wind chime. "Of course not. He did tell me that you are an accomplished thief who could help troubleshoot weak spots in our security." Remy could see something mischievous in her smile. "And that your mutation would prove invaluable on the road, though he declined to explain what it was or why.

Remy's own chuckle was low and smoky. "I'm just invaluable, me, with this charmin' personality."

"He also said to watch you around my female staff."

"Only if dat's what you're into,  _ chere _ ."

"As soon as you walked in the door?"

Remy was grinning at Rogue over their 3,000 mile separation. "She's smart,  _ petite _ . I think you'd like her." The Cajun twisted onto his side, scooting the laptop back a little. He'd already given Rogue a virtual tour of his plush accommodations.

Cassidy Keep was a damn castle. He'd felt his thief's heart give a pang of longing when he'd first rode up on the motorcycle Sean had lent him for the drive from Dublin to County Mayo. Turned out the whole Ireland to-do was a family affair as Storm picked up Sean's daughter while Gambit was dispatched to care for his beloved partner, the brilliant and verbose Doctor MacTaggert. Sure enough he liked all three of the Cassidy-MacTaggerts, but his fingers itched still to pick locks and pockets, eager to hold the kind of heirlooms hidden in state of the art safes behind centuries old oil paintings. Ah, to be here on less legitimate business would be a dream.

"Sugar, if she could cure me, I'd marry her."

"You don't need cured, Anna Marie, you ain't sick."

Remy's tone arrested her, he saw the sharp of it halt her in her tracks. Rogue'd been moving around her room, settling in for the night. While at Castle Cassidy the time was two a.m., back in New York it was only just nine. She'd been gathering up homework to take, along with Remy, to the comforts of her bed when his sharp tone stopped her cold. "It ain't like yours," she finally said.

"Or maybe it is,  _ chere _ . The Doctor, she's been talking a lot since I got here and I been listenin'. Maybe you just ain't found the right way to control your mutation."

"Or maybe I cain't. Scott never has figured it out. Take away his visor and the man is a menace. And he's hardly the only one. Wolverine can retract his claws, but he never stops all the other stuff." Hugging her books tight to her chest, Rogue shook her head, thick curls swinging over her shoulders. "I want to believe there's a way-"

"Then stop soundin' so damn sorry for yourself, Rogue, and start tryin' somethin', anythin'."

* * *

**Rogue** carried those words over the rest of the argument that followed and into the next day. Was that what she was doing? All she and the professor ever had time to work on was keeping her sane, had she given up on figuring out how to control her venomous skin? Hell, had she ever really tried or was she so damn afraid that it wouldn't work that she'd never given a real go at it?

It took her most of the day to work up the courage to find Jean. Bobby kept giving her strange looks and John had flat out asked what had crawled up her ass, but she wasn't ready to share this with them. Besides, what was  _ this  _ besides some questions?

She found Jean in medical, the slim redhead filling out paperwork and looking like she should be the poster girl for a posh medical school. Jean wore soft linen pants in rose, a green silk shirt that buttoned to her neck but left her milk-white arms bare. Gold glinted at her ears and wrists, no doubt made to match the fine chain hanging around the column of her neck. Jean’s appearance had Rogue looking down at herself, bright red gloves climbing halfway to her elbows, a tee-shirt for Joan Jett and the Blackhearts she'd lifted from a thrift store when she'd been on the road with Logan, tights under jean shorts, and black boots made for motorcycles and kickin' ass. She didn't have to look to know her skunk-striped hair was curling extra wildly in the humidity of the New York summer. She huffed a sigh. Should maybe have put in a little more effort if for nothing else than a boost to her confidence before hunting up the ever elegant doctor.

Apparently, the huff was enough to bring eyes a far softer green than her own up from their work. A smile immediately bloomed on Jean's face. "Rogue. How are you?" The smile was tempered with just a hint of concern. "Are you feeling well?"

Rogue considered abandoning the idea. She could say she had a headache and couldn't find any Tylenol. 'Course, a Rogue headache put people on yellow alert in case it was a renegade personality making a move on the controls. "I'm fine, Dr. Grey." She winced, mentally rolled her eyes, "Jean. Um. I had some questions but they can wait. You look busy and I'm not important, well, they're not. So, never mind."

"Rogue, please, stay. You aren't interrupting and you, and your questions, are very important to me." Jean's voice was soft, the kind of soft that Rogue wasn't sure whether to trust and sink right into or back away from slowly because usually that sort of kind was an act. "Please? I'd really love to help you, with anything. If it's about boys or sex then I—"

"No. God. Is everyone in this mansion gonna try and give me the talk?" She mumbled it to herself while Jean's pale cheeks went pink. "It's about my mutation." Finally, Rogue came all the way in and sat across from Jean on a metal stool. Ankles were hooked on the rails and her red-gloved fingers fidgeted with each other. "I was talkin' to—Well I realized that maybe I haven't tried all that hard to, you know, turn it off. Or figure out how it works. Mostly I just try to keep away from people and shut the ones already in my head up. Do you think, is there something I might try that would, is there more that I could be doing? Something more active to figure out if I have an off switch?"

It took a week for Jean to compile a list of answers. Another three days after that for Rogue to call Remy. It was ten o'clock on a Friday, which meant it was somewhere around three in the morning at Castle Cassidy. She turned on her computer and called, knowing he might not even have the service up. But after only two rings his sleepy face was in view, the red in his eyes burning in all the darkness around him.

"I woke you up."

"Well, ain't dat the truth. What's wrong,  _ chere _ ? Is everythin' alright?"

"Nothing urgent. Go back to bed."

" _ Non _ . You done woke dis Cajun up, may as well tell me why you call." He yawned, stretched in the dim light cast mostly from the computer screen. She noted that he wore his gloves, though not a shirt, as he scratched his chest. "Well?"

"I wanted to apologize." Even with such little light, she noted that he arched a brow. "For callin' you a dirty Swamp Rat with no sense of boundaries or compassion." He was silent. "And for accusin' your mother of having loose morals." Rogue was pretty certain he snorted just then. "Not knowing her, I shouldn't have brought her into the argument. That was petty. And,well, furthermore: You were right."

" _ Pardon moi _ ?"

"You were right, Cajun, don't be ungracious about it," Mississippi snapped back at him, bringing the warmth and the south in a sentence.

"God, won't she ever shut up, Gambit?" A female's voice came through, from somewhere behind the man taking up most of the screen with his smug face and his sculpted chest. The voice was heavily Irish and heavy with sleep. "I was asleep."

"Ah, you sure were,  _ petite _ ." He looked a touch uncomfortable before a gloved hand came up and obscured the screen entirely. He did not, however, turn off the sound so Rogue could hear his whisper, "Look, Brigit,-"

"Belinda."

"Right. Belinda. This here's a good friend and she needs t'talk—"

"So have her call back in the daylight. Is it so much to ask when you've a hot woman in your bed that your wee friend has her tantrums when the grown folk are awake and care?"

"I'm awake,  _ chere _ , and I care. Now, you go on to your own room. You got early duties tomorrow,  _ non _ ?"

There was shuffling, feet hitting the floor, muffled curses in an accent so thick Rogue couldn't make out the individual words, though she got the gist. Eventually, Remy came back, still shirtless; he sprawled in his tangled blankets but had turned a lamp on low so it added a golden glow over him.

"She lives in the castle—"

"It's called a Keep,  _ ange _ ."

"She lives and works in the  _ castle  _ and you just threw her out of bed?"

His broad shoulders rolled. "She'll get over it,  _ petite _ . She got what she wanted. I got what I wanted. Now, I get to talk to you. You been avoidin' me for too long."

"I didn't want to apologize to your womanizing ass and encourage you."

"You wound me, Anna Marie. Them other women know what they getting' into. I ain't tellin' 'em we gon' be together forever,  _ petite _ , just that they gonna wish it was." His smile, combined with his sleepy eyes, the rumpled sheets, and his bare chest were a sight to make a woman catch her breath and dare him to prove it.

Even Rogue. Though she just managed not to bite her tongue in two while holding back the words. "And now that we're done with Sexy Gambit is Sexy can we move on to the more important matter of me?"

Gambit laughed and Rogue grinned back instinctively before snuggling into her own comforter. "You are right,  _ petite, _ you are what's important. You gonna apologize some more?"

"Nope, your  _ cherie amie _ ruined that for you. I am going to tell you the options Jean presented me with."

"We gonna have t'work on dat accent before I take you home. Tante Mattie'd skin me for not teachin' you better,  _ chere _ ."

Rogue yawned, sleepy for the first time in a week, and dismissively flicked gloved fingers at him.

" _ Bêbê _ , you need t'take those off. No need to sleep in 'em."

"I know, but we're talkin'-"

"Through a computer. Take 'em off then tell me Jean's options."

It was practically visible, the weight of her exhaustion as she peeled the gloves off then laid them aside before snuggling back into her comforter. The comforter didn't cover her; it was plumped up for extra cushioning effect.

"So, she says controlling it could depend on what triggers it. If it's tied to my autonomic functions—the stuff like breathin' and my heartbeat—control is gonna be real hard to come by, if it's even possible. If it's part of my sympathetic nervous system, my uh—" she flapped her hands, face scrunched while the word eluded her.

"Fight or flight," supplied with an affectionate smile curving masculine lips.

"Right. That. Then biofeedback might work. 'Course, she also said I should try more intense yoga and maybe think about anti-anxiety pills."

"Biofeedback?"

"Yeah, it's this thing where they hook me up to a heart monitor and I use my brain to slow my heart. People use it to beat lie detectors, manage pain, even those crazy Polar Swim things where you jump into a frozen over lake—which is just ridiculous, by the way. And marmosets even do it for marshmallows."

"You sayin' if a monkey can do it, you can too?"

An amused, "Mhmm," came with a downward flutter of lashes she couldn't keep up. "What do you think, Remy? Any of these sound like gold?"

"I think you got your choice to make, but me, I'd take a pass on de pills for now. Try the biofeedback first. I'll even send you some marshmallows,  _ chere _ ."

"No good, Cajun. I want you to feed 'em to me while fannin' me."

"I think they usually use grapes for dat."

"Don't care. I want marshmallows."

"An' who said you always get what you want?"

"I never get what I want, sugar, that's the point."

There was a long silence after the quick exchange. Well, as quick as a half-asleep mutant girl from Mississippi could manage, anyway. In that silence, Rogue slipped fully to sleep.

"Anna Marie? You awake?" Gambit's voice was kept purposefully low, soft. If she was asleep,and he was hoping she was,he didn't want to wake her. "Me, I'm'a make sure you get what you want." He left their computers linked and fell asleep again to the soft sounds coming from Xavier's in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary  
> Alohrs Pas—Of course not  
> Ami—friend  
> Arrete, toi—Stop, you  
> Assez—Enough  
> Belle—Pretty  
> Bon—Good  
> Bonhomie—geniality; pleasant disposition  
> Bonne fête—Happy Birthday  
> Catin—doll (in Cajun French); in France it has come to mean prostitute but Cajun French adheres to an older tradition  
> Ce n'est pas ma faute — It's not my fault.  
> C'est tout—That's all  
> Cher—masculine for dear  
> Chère—feminine for dear  
> Chien—dog  
> Comment les affaires?—How are things?  
> couillon—fool (not particularly harsh and can even be used affectionately)  
> désolé—Sorry (masculine)  
> En sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie.— In her beauty rests (both) my death and my life. Quote from Maurice Scève, French poet  
> envie—hunger or craving for something; said to a person it would mean sexual desire e.g. J'ai envie de toi. (I want you. Note: A way of saying it with warmth, not vulgarly.)  
> exactement—exactly  
> famille— family  
> Fils de putain—son of a bitch  
> Gaienne—Girlfriend  
> Homme—man  
> Je t'aime — I love you.  
> Je t'adore — I adore you.  
> jolie fille—pretty girl; doll  
> la petite morte— literally: the little death; figuratively it is a reference to orgasm  
> Le Bon Dieu!—The Good God  
> Le Diable Blanc—The White Devil, one of the names Remy has been known by as his eyes 'cause people to think him demonic  
> ma— my (feminine)  
> Mais—well or of course, for emphasis  
> make themisère(or, make the misery)—to cause trouble for  
> mon—my (masculine or preceding a word beginning with a vowel)  
> mon ami—my friend  
> mon amour—my love  
> mon chou— my cabbage (French term of endearment)  
> mon coeur—my heart  
> mon loup — my wolf (French term of endearment)  
> non—no  
> Ouah!— Yes. More casual that oui, rather more like "yeah"  
> oui—yes  
> père — father  
> petite—Little (little girl)  
> petite bouche—little mouth  
> Pop chock—small brown bird  
> Qui—in this case, who (I am not getting too in depth on French grammar as apparently qui and que are interchangeable depending on whether they are a direct or an indirect objects)  
> Salope!—Bitch  
> Savate—French Kick Boxing, one of the styles of fighting Remy is known for  
> 'tite chatte—little cat  
> Viens ici—Come here


End file.
